


more than just a dream

by spit_on_me_larry



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alcohol, Anal Sex, Angst, Banter, Blow Jobs, But we still love him, Harry is a hot professor kind of, Hate to Love, JHC I can't believe I just tagged light bondage, Jealous Louis, Light Bondage, Louis is a student, Louis is kind of a mess, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Public Sex, Rimming, Sexual Tension, Shit goes down, Slow Burn, Smut, University Student Harry, University Student Louis, because of course it does, so much fucking banter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-14
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-08-08 19:53:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 122,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7770985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spit_on_me_larry/pseuds/spit_on_me_larry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis Tomlinson loves his life, he really does. It's just that he's constantly on the verge of everything completely going to shit. He's disorganized and clumsy and hotheaded and just a little bit ridiculous.</p><p>And then he meets Harry Styles. Harry is the type of person Louis hates. It seems like everything comes easily to him. He's rich and brilliant and everyone loves him and he has his life impossibly and perfectly together. </p><p>Louis detests Harry Styles. Except for the inconvenient fact that he can't seem to get Harry out of his head.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> Oh shit, here we go. This is my first fic and I'm low-key super nervous that it's complete trash. That being said, hope you enjoy the angst! I think this will probably end up being around 10 chapters? Not sure; it's not nearly done and I still haven't sketched out a lot of things, so I guess we'll see. 
> 
> Full disclosure, it starts out a little slow, but rest assured, shit will go down.
> 
> UPDATE- You can read more than just a dream in Italian at this link- http://www.efpfanfic.net/viewstory.php?sid=3682224&i=1

_More than just a dream…more than just a dream.._

 

Louis frowned and rolled over in bed, tugging a pillow over his head. He had been having the best dream. It started with him scoring the winning goal of the Doncaster Rover’s match against Manchester United and ended in a locker room with a sweaty and very naked David Beckham.

 

_You were out of my league, got my heartbeat racing; if I die don’t wake me, cuz you are more than just a dream._

“Nghhh, fine fine I’m up,” he grumbled sleepily as his alarm began its final refrain of Fitz and the Tantrum’s _Out of My League. L_ ouis gave one last resigned groan, switched off the alarm, and rolled out of bed, cursing whoever in the registrar’s office had decided that 8am was an acceptable time for a class to start. Louis wasn’t even capable of coherent speech this early, let alone any kind of meaningful discussion in his History of Human Rights in Britain seminar.

Louis peered at the clock, debating whether to change for class or just go in the sweats he had worn to bed. “Shit,” he murmured when he saw the time. “Better just go in this.” He grabbed his notebooks and the book they were reading for class that week from his desk and stuffed both into his North Face backpack.

He slipped on his well-worn Adidas trainers and ran to the bathroom to brush his teeth. He spent a minute desperately trying to make his sandy brown hair look at least a little presentable to no avail. When he was done, it still looked like he’d spent the last hour in a windstorm. 

“Not your best look, Tomlinson,” he said grimly to his reflection, taking in the dark circles under his electric blue eyes and the small stain on his black v-neck t-shirt.

“Talking to yourself again, Lou?” a sleepy voice asked from the other side of the bathroom door. “Not normal, that.” 

“Shut up, Zayn,” he said to his roommate. Zayn came into the bathroom looking better than anyone had the right to look this early. He was shirtless, displaying the tattoos on his chest, and a pair of joggers hung low on his narrow hips. 

He had clearly just rolled out of bed; he was rubbing his eyes and his hair was sticking in every direction. But somehow it worked. While Louis’ bedhead was a total disaster, Zayn carried it off effortlessly. 

Basically, Zayn was sex on legs; it was a commonly acknowledged fact among most of the women and a fair share of the men on York’s campus. 

Louis wasn't blind; he could appreciate that Zayn was ridiculously attractive. But he had also known Zayn since they were both five years old, and they’d never been more than friends. 

Louis had always known that he was gay and Zayn had experimented with both guys and girls ever since Year 10.  But Louis liked to say that any potential romance between them had died when Zayn peed the bed while they were sleeping at Louis’ house when they were about 7.

“Don’t you have, like, class or something, mate?” Zayn asked groggily, jolting Louis out of his thoughts. “Yeah, yeah. Gotta run,” he said, slipping past Zayn out of the bathroom. 

He hurried to the kitchen and rifled through the cabinets, looking for a granola bar or piece of fruit to eat on his way to class. As he stared at a nearly-empty pantry, he realized that he’d forgotten to go on his weekly Tesco run. “Shit,” he groaned again. 

“You know how that kind of language offends me, LouLou,” chirped a sunny voice. “Fuck you, Liam,” Louis replied, lobbing an almost empty bag of crisps at his other roommate’s head. 

Liam laughed and caught the bag, opening it and stuffing a handful of crisps in his mouth, his brown eyes crinkling as he grinned at Louis. 

“It’s not fair that you’re this fucking cheerful in the morning,” Louis informed Liam. “Not natural. Don’t know how I’ve lived with you for the past three years if I’m being honest.” 

Liam shrugged. He was wearing his gym clothes and sweating from his usual early morning trip to the gym. “Early bird gets the worm and all that."

“You know I’d love to sit around and chat all morning,” said Liam with his mouth full, “but don’t you have a class to get to?”

"SHIT,” Louis exclaimed, checking his watch. “Double shit. Gonna be late. See you later!” he called over his shoulder.

“Oi! Be on time for practice today! Coach will flip a shit if you’re late again!” Liam shouted as Louis bolted toward the door and out of their apartment.

* * *

Five minutes later, Louis was in Vanbrugh—the building where he spent most of his time as a history student—taking the last of the stairs three at a time.

Somehow he was only two minutes late; maybe class hadn’t started yet. He rounded the corner at a sprint and—BAM—crashed headlong into someone. To be clear, Louis didn’t awkwardly brush them. He didn’t even kind of shove them. He full on ran into them.

Louis reeled backwards, his backpack falling off his shoulder and his phone slipping from his hand onto the floor.

He looked up at the person he had run into and got his first real look at him. And damn. This guy was...well, he was kind of extremely beautiful. He was taller than Louis, maybe 6 feet, and lanky, with long legs that were almost sinful in tight black jeans. Wide green eyes and amazing full lips were framed by long, chocolate brown curls that were carelessly pushed back from his face. 

As he looked the man up and down, Louis noticed a large brownish stain on the man’s white t-shirt and an empty paper coffee cup in his hand. 

Louis blinked and returned to reality. He looked back up to the man’s face and saw that it was twisted into an almost-comical expression of shock. And oh, God. Oh. God. Leave it to him to find one of the most beautiful people on this whole damn campus and spill coffee all over him. Typical. 

“I—oh god, I’m so sorry. That coffee wasn’t hot, was it? It’s just you know, was in a bit of a rush and—” Louis faltered, fully aware of how jumbled words tumbling out of his mouth are. 

“You know, you really might try being more careful,” snapped the beautiful stranger in a clipped and infuriatingly posh accent. And then more to himself, he murmured “Fuck! I’ll never get the stain out of this shirt…” 

Louis looked around and remembered his phone and bag on the floor. As he bent down to pick them up, he saw it. His phone. His brand new phone. 

 “Fuck, my phone!” Louis exclaimed at a tone approaching a yell. He had bought his iPhone 6 just last week after saving up for more than six months. 

He dropped to his knees and examined his phone. His heart sank; there was a long jagged crack that ran the length of the screen. 

“Shit! Shit! Fuck!” He was shouting. The rational part of his brain (which at this point was not in the driver’s seat) realized that he was shouting at a total stranger, a stranger he had just spilled coffee on.  And he knew that, aside from being extremely rude, this made him seem like a crazy person. 

But at the moment, Louis couldn’t care less about that. Because all he could think about right now were all those extra shifts at the bookshop; all of the times that he went without his favorite, obscenely expensive granola; all of the sacrifices that he made to save up the money for that phone. Gone. Completely fucking wasted.

 “It’s cracked,” he said in a shrill, accusatory tone that he knew was unfair. After all, he had been the one running through the corridor like a madman. 

The man raised his eyebrows. “Listen, it sucks about your phone. But what part of this is my fault?” he asked. He sounded as though he was fighting a losing battle to stay calm, but he couldn’t hide the indignation on his face. “I mean, look at me, I’m covered in hot coffee.”

 “Whatever,” Louis snapped, past the point of caring that he definitely owed this guy a proper apology. At that moment, he saw on his phone’s cracked screen that he was now almost five minutes late for class. 

He gathered his belongings as quickly as he could and sped the rest of the way down the corridor and into the classroom, not even glancing behind him at the man he’d run into. 

 

Unsurprisingly, class had already started. He kept his head down and slipped into the seat closest to the door. The other ten students in the seminar looked up at him as he sat. “So kind of you to join us, Mr. Tomlinson,” his professor said wryly.

 “Sorry sir, it’s been kind of a shit morning,” Louis said without thinking. Everyone in the room stared at Louis. A few people giggled and one girl’s jaw actually dropped. 

“I’m so sorry I did not mean to say that,” Louis said. His professor just chuckled and said “I think we can all relate.” He turned back to the class. “Now, as I was saying, a lot of the anti-Arab sentiment we see in Britain today can be traced back to the aftermath of the Balfour Agreement following the Second World War…” 

Louis pulled his book out of his bag and opened his notebook and started scribbling, trying not to think about the cracked phone in his pocket and the beautiful stranger he'd left standing in the hallway.

 

An hour and 15 minutes later, Louis was shutting his laptop and sweeping his belongings into his bag. Today was his busiest day of the week, with two classes, an afternoon shift at the bookshop, and football practice in the evening. Thankfully, his second class, History of the Anti-Slavery Movement in Britain and the Americas, was his favorite.

It was the one class where he found himself jumping into the discussion at every possible opportunity. All of the readings were so fascinating, the professor always kept the class engaged, and the course material still felt so relevant. 

He slid into a seat next to his friend Perrie. They had met at first year orientation three years ago and gotten along at once, bonding over their shared love of shit-talking the other people in their orientation group. 

“Hey, Pez!” he greeted her jovially. “Lou, quick, tell me what the reading was about,” she hissed.

“Really? Again?” She grinned. “I know, I'm the worst. But, you know that older guy I’ve been seeing? Well, we’ve finally started sleeping together and now he’s taking up all my time. His apartment is huge! And he’s honestly got the most amazing dick I’ve ever seen.”

“TMI!” Louis squawked. “Oh, come on! You’re my gay best friend; you’re supposed to love this stuff!” Louis shook his head and mumbled something about offensive stereotypes, but he was grinning. He secretly did love this stuff.

They chatted for a few more minutes before the professor entered the classroom and brought the class to order. 

“Quiet, you lot!” he raised his voice above the din of chatting students. Louis liked Professor Coleman because his teaching style was what you might call non-traditional. He was always encouraging his students to challenge his ideas. 

His lectures were passionate, even emotional, like the time that he had gotten so angry that he called the British Parliament of the early 19th century “a bunch of cowardly, narcissistic tossers.” 

On another memorable occasion, he had performed his own version of Eminem’s “Lose Yourself,” which he had rewritten to describe the Abolition Act of 1833. 

“Just a couple of announcements before we start today, guys,” Coleman was saying. The class fell silent. “First of all, your papers are due two weeks from today, so if you need me to look over anything, ask soon. Speaking of which, Tomlinson, I got your email and have some notes for you if you’ll stay a bit after class.”

Perrie rolled her eyes and snorted. “Show off,” she muttered under her breath. Louis shrugged. He had spent much of the last weekend in York's archives researching for his essay and if that made him a show-off, he wasn't fussed.

“Second of all,” Coleman continued, “starting next week, we’ll be having a special guest in class. He’s one of York’s history PhD students, and he’s currently doing research on the abolition of slavery in Britain and so I’ve asked him to join our class as my teaching assistant. He is one of the brightest scholars in his program. He was published for the first time when he was just a sophomore at Oxford. After he finished his undergraduate degree, he spent two years traveling around the world doing research. He’s going to be a great resource for all of us, so I expect all of you to bring your A game to class from now on.” 

Louis listened with interest. This guy sounded brilliant and Louis was pretty excited to meet him and see if he lived up to the hype. 

 “I wonder what he was researching,” Louis mused. “I wonder if he’s hot,” Perrie replied. Louis snorted. “Only you would say that,” he said, shaking his head. She shrugged. "What? Might make class more interesting," she said with a wink.

“Bet he’s got big thick glasses and an overbite,” Louis whispered. Perrie looked unconvinced. “Nerds can be hot,” she whispered. “I mean, look at you."

Louis bit back a laugh and shushed her so that he could listen to Coleman talk about the impact that _Uncle Tom’s Cabin_ had on the American antislavery movement. 

* * *

After class, Louis had half an hour to run home and change clothes for his shift at the bookshop.“Li, you working this afternoon?” he called when he got back to the apartment. 

“Yeah, man! You ready to go?” Liam asked, poking his head out of the door to his room. He scrunched his nose when he saw what Louis was wearing. “You’re still not changed?”, he asked. “Our shift starts in like, 20 minutes.”

Louis rolled his eyes. “Gimme a second. I promise I won’t ruin your perfect punctuality record.”

It was Liam’s turn to roll his eyes.  “Y’know, being on time isn’t a bad thing, Lou,” he pointed out. 

“Yeah, whatever you say,” Louis muttered, tugging his t-shirt over his head as he headed to his room to change. He pulled off his York football sweatpants and shrugged into an unfortunate pair of khakis and navy blue polo emblazoned with the words “Blackwell’s Bookshop” and a small picture of an open book. 

Louis looked in the mirror and winced. He spent at least 20 minutes a week bitching about his uniform. The khakis were loose and lumpy and Louis liked to say that navy just wasn’t his color. Liam liked to say that Louis was full of shit.

Liam and Louis had worked at Blackwell’s together since they had both moved to York for uni three years ago. It was actually where they had met and become friends.

Within 5 minutes of meeting each other, they had discovered their mutual football obsession; before long, Louis had invited Liam to the dorm room that he and Zayn shared for a round or five of FIFA.

Louis still gave Zayn shit for how jealous he had been at first. After Liam left that night, Louis had eagerly asked Zayn what he thought of his new friend.

“He’s very…friendly,” Zayn mumbled. Louis knew Zayn well enough to know that this was not a compliment. 

Fortunately, Zayn had warmed up to Liam after the three of them had been snowed into Zayn and Louis’ place for three days straight right after their first winter holiday.

The rest had been history. The next year, they had decided to go in together for an apartment and had been living together ever since.

 

On their walk to the shop, Louis showed Liam his newly-cracked phone and went on a lengthy rant about the sexy mystery man. 

“Please tell me you didn’t yell at this poor bloke right after you spilled his coffee all over him,” Liam sighed. 

“I can’t believe you’re taking his side!” Louis exclaimed. At this, Liam snorted in disbelief. “No, hear me out! My phone was cracked! Of course I was pissed off!” 

“Just get your screen replaced. It’s no big deal. Costs like 40 pounds.” 

Louis lit up. “Shit, why didn’t I think of that? You’re a genius!” 

“You know, you should also think about trying to find this guy and offering him a sincere apology,” Liam insisted. 

If it had been Liam, he wouldn’t rest until he’d found this guy, apologized profusely, bought him a new shirt, and probably baked him muffins or something. 

Liam’s lecture was cut short when they arrived at Blackwell’s and were ushered into the shop by their boss Kathy.

“Boys, thank goodness you’re here. I’ve got to run; the boys have both caught the chicken pox so apparently they’re highly contagious and have to be quarantined from other kids at school.” 

Liam crowed sympathetically. “Oh, no! my younger sister had that a few years back. Put them in a cold bath with half a box of baking soda. It should bring down the redness."

Louis had to resist rolling his eyes. Liam was such a mother hen. Louis would never admit that he found Liam’s worrying both endearing and dead useful when he or Zayn got sick.

Kathy thanked him, gave the boys instructions to restock the nonfiction section of the store, and swept out of the shop, muttering to herself. “Chicken pox! God help me!” 

By the time Louis jogged onto the football pitch that evening (with five minutes to spare, thank you very much), he was exhausted. He had sprinted from Blackwell’s to the phone repair shop he had googled from his cracked phone. 

He had arrived at the shop five minutes before it closed and had left his phone with a kindly older man who had assured Louis that his phone would be as good as new by the next afternoon. 

When Louis' coach gave him a pointed look and said, "Cutting it close, aren't we Tomlinson?" Louis found himself cursing the man he’d run into that morning.

This time, though, his irritation was accompanied by a surge of guilt as Liam’s voice rang through his head: “ _You_ ran into _him,_ Lou.”

Thinking about how he had shouted at an unsuspecting stranger made him cringe a little. But he didn’t have too much time to get worked up over it because Coach had already started running drills.

Practice that night was brutal. They had lost their first match of the season the previous week and their coach was working hard to make sure that they didn’t have a repeat performance against Sussex this coming Saturday. 

After a seven lap jog around the field, Coach informed them that the real practice was starting. Liam and Louis exchanged a mutinous glance with their other friend on the team, Ed. This was going to be a long night. 

Two hours of endless drills and scrimmaging later, Louis was finally free. Free to shower, change, and start on a long problem set for his Fundamentals of Economics class. 

At around 1am, Louis finally gave up on his p-set and slammed the textbook shut. He drug himself into bed, smiling at the thought that his first class tomorrow didn’t start until noon.  He pledged that he would leave himself plenty of time to get there, avoiding a repeat of this morning’s debacle. He really should find that guy and apologize…


	2. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I'm going to try for at least one update a week, so maybe another chapter at the beginning of next week, as I should have a good chunk of writing time this weekend! Hope you enjoy this chapter! :)

Louis glanced down at his watch and stopped its built-in timer. Three miles in 24 minutes. He smiled to himself. He was getting faster. Louis slowed to a walk in front the coffee shop where Zayn worked.

He entered the cafe and made his way to to the counter, where Zayn was struggling to prepare some kind of elaborate frozen coffee drink. “Fucking fuck, how the fuck does this fucking machine work?” Louis heard Zayn mumbling furiously. 

Louis adopted a deep, booming voice. “I’ll report you for that language!” Zayn nearly jumped out of his skin and then scowled when he saw Louis doubled over with laughter. 

“You’re a fucker,” he informed Louis, who just smirked. “Oh, please. You love me,” he replied smugly.

“Did you want to order something, or did you come all the way here to take the piss out of me?”

Louis ordered a large tea and chose a table near the counter so he could get some studying done while chatting with Zayn when he wasn’t helping customers. 

“Y’know, Li’s birthday is coming up next month,” Louis said absentmindedly to Zayn after about an hour. “We could rent a cabin somewhere, bring some games and a shit ton of weed? Or take him to Donny for the weekend?”

Zayn didn’t say anything. Louis looked up and saw Zayn peering at a spot a couple feet above his head.

“Hello? Earth to Zee?” he said, waving his hands in front of Zayn’s face. His amber eyes flicked to Louis.

“Was just thinking…does Liam seem…off to you?” Zayn asked. “What makes you say that?” Louis asked.

“I dunno…he just seems quieter than usual. Acting kind of different. Hasn’t wanted to hang out with me the last few times I’ve asked.”

Louis thought for a moment. “I haven’t noticed anything,” he said at last. “Well, he slept in this morning. But he could use the extra rest of you ask me,” he shrugged.

Zayn made a noncommittal noise and Louis made a mental note to check in with Liam sometime soon.

 

He did exactly that a couple days later, during their shift at Blackwell’s. “We should go out this weekend,” Louis told Liam, looking up from his task of shelving books in the cozy reading room of the shop. “After the match on Saturday. Y’know, Tommo and Payno painting the town red and all that.” 

Liam sighed heavily. “I dunno. M'pretty tired.” Louis looked up again, examining his friend's stooped shoulders and dark under eye circles. Maybe Zayn had been right. 

“What's up with you lately?" Louis asked, cocking his head to the side and fixing Liam with a wide-eyed, concerned look. "You seem, I dunno...preoccupied."

"What are you talking about?" Liam asked, a touch defensively.

"Girl problems?" Louis guessed. "Is it that girl you were hooking up with last semester? What was her name, Jenny? It's that, innit?" 

Liam sighed. "First off, her name was Rachel." Louis shrugged. "And second of all, it's not her. It's...something else," he said vaguely.

At that moment, they heard footsteps coming up the stairs from the main shop area. Liam stopped speaking and looked around shiftily. 

A moment later, Zayn's head poked out from the top of the staircase. "What're we talkin' about?” he asked. Louis grinned. "Liam was just telling me about a special someone, weren't you, Li?" 

He glanced over at Liam who, for some reason, was looking even tenser than before. "No, forget it. It's nothing. What's up, Zayn?" 

Louis frowned and resolved to find out exactly what was going on with his friend.

* * *

 For the next few days, however, the Liam drama was pushed to the back of Louis’ mind in the lead-up to Saturday’s footie match. At the last minute, Coach had added two extra practices, meaning that Louis was on the field every day that week. 

By Friday, he wasn’t sure that he would ever get the smell of grass off his body.

Practice that night ended with a huddle and short meeting between Coach and the team captains: Louis, Liam, and their mates Olly and Ed.

“Wanna come over for pizza?” Louis asked Ed and Olly after Coach had dismissed them.

“Zayn texted saying he just ordered—pepperoni and pineapple, Ed; your favorite.” 

They both agreed heartily and the four of them hastily showered and changed, then walked back to the flat, speculating about weather conditions and dissecting the starting lineup for the next day’s match. 

That night was the most relaxing one Louis had had in a while. He was a little nervous for the game, but it was a good nervous, the kind of nervous that he knew would give him an edge on the field the next day. 

Louis, Liam, Olly, and Ed spent the evening deep in football talk until Zayn started throwing pizza crusts at their heads. “Oi! I come to the games and that’s already more than enough football for me.”

They spent the rest of the night watching _Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban,_ Liam shushing Zayn and Louis as they argued about whether or not Hermione should have ended up with Ron.

 

The next morning dawned clear and bright and Louis woke up before his alarm at around 7:30. He still had several hours until the match, but he knew that any attempt to get a little more sleep would be useless.

He was always wired on game days. After a few more minutes in bed checking Facebook, he padded into the kitchen. He had finally made time for a grocery run, so he scrutinized the more or less fully-stocked pantry and waited for inspiration to strike.

After considering his options, he pulled out the necessary ingredients, turned on his Spotify cooking playlist (yes, that’s a thing), and looped his “Kiss the Cook” apron around his neck (the apron had been a gag gift from Liam and Louis would never admit that he loved it).

Twenty minutes later, he was doling out pancakes and bacon onto three plates. Zayn would be asleep for at least another hour, but Liam should be up by now. 

Louis placed one plate into the microwave headed to Liam’s bedroom with the other two. 

“Breakfast in bed!” he called to announce himself as he barged into the room. To his surprise, Liam was still snoring lightly. 

Louis set the plates on Liam’s desk and hopped onto the bed. “Li! Game day! What’re you doing still asleep?” 

Liam gasped and sat bolt upright at the disturbance, but relaxed and rolled his eyes when he recognized the intruder. 

“Shit, Louis! Give a person a little warning before you jump into bed with them, will you?” 

By way of an apology, Louis picked up the plates and waved them in Liam’s face, saying “I come bearing gifts. I put extra chocolate chips in your pancakes, just like you like!” 

They sat in Liam’s bed and talked about the game while they ate breakfast. Well, Louis talked about the game and Liam listened, occasionally humming in agreement. “Our midfielders are so much stronger than they were last week. Don’t you think?” 

Liam didn’t reply. “Li?” he said, nudging Liam’s shoulder with his own. Liam seemed to snap out of a trance. “Sorry, what was that?” he asked. 

Louis studied him for a moment. “Are you okay?” he asked. Liam attempted a smile. “Good, yeah, fine,” he said. “Just thinking about the game.” 

Louis said nothing. He suspected that Liam wasn’t being totally honest, but he didn’t want to press him and psych him out. 

After a few minutes, Liam gathered their plates and took them into the kitchen to wash up. It didn’t escape Louis’ notice that almost half of Liam’s food was still on his plate. His stomach sank a little more. Louis’ pancakes were Liam’s favorite, and he always cleared his plate. 

 

Before they met their coach on the sidelines, Ed called a team huddle. “We know what we have to do, mates. We’ve put in the work. We’ve got the talent. So let’s go out and there and fucking kill it. Alright?” he shouted. “ALRIGHT,” the team yelled back. “ALRIGHT?” he bellowed. “ALRIGHT,” the team boomed even louder than before. This was a pre-game ritual, one that always pumped Louis up.

He ran onto the field and looked out to the crowd.  He spotted Zayn in the front row of the stands. Zayn loved to complain about how much he hated football, but Louis could see the excitement on his face as he watched the team jog out of the locker room. He even joined the rest of the crowd in a chant, which was very un-Zayn-like. 

At last, the referee blew his whistle and Louis jogged to his position at the center of the field. As the attacking midfielder, Louis had to both stay open for passes from his teammates and be on the attack against their opponents. 

The game began with another blast from the ref’s whistle.  It became immediately clear that Sussex wanted this win too, and that they were willing to fight hard for it. From his position in the middle of the game, Louis had eyes on his entire team. He could tell that their opponent’s ferocity had taken them by surprise. By the time Louis and his teammates ran off the field at half time, Sussex was leading by a point.

Louis knew that they could come back and win it, but not if things continued the way that they were going now. He gritted his teeth and thought fast, trying to decide what the best course of action was. After a moment, he made up his mind and followed his team into the locker room. 

The mood was somber. Coach spent five minutes reviewing plays for the next half. Then, he sighed and said, “You don’t need me to tell you that you’re going to have to turn it around if we want to win this one, mates. Let’s go out there and show them what we’re made of. Because we’re better than how we played last half.” 

He turned to where Louis, Liam, Olly, and Ed were standing at the center of the circle. “Anything to add, captains?” he asked them. There was a moment of tense silence. Louis quickly checked his watch. He still had time. He crossed his fingers and cleared his throat. 

“Yeah. Um. I do. The thing is, well. We’re tense. Have been the whole match. That’s why we’re not performing as well as we should. We’re all wound up and we can’t win if we don’t unwind.” 

A few people nodded in agreement. “So. I was trying to think of something that could release some of that nervous energy and—well, sometimes when I’m stressed I like—I know it sounds weird but I just have like a 3-minute dance party and...well, it usually helps.” 

Everyone in the room just stood there, staring blankly at him. “So. Yeah, I thought we could do that.” Louis looked around at his team. Crickets. 

After a few seconds of very awkward silence, Liam’s face broke into a smile and he boomed “Hell yeah! Let’s do it!” Olly nodded vigorously. “Can’t hurt, can it?” Ed cracked a grin. “I’ll provide the tunes,” he said mischievously. 

Many of the team was still looking doubtful. Oh, god. This might be the stupidest idea Louis had ever had. Or it might just work. Ed reached into his locker and pulled out his phone and the portable speaker he always carried with him. 

He pressed a button on his phone, and all of a sudden, a woman's voice was blasting through the locker room, echoing off the walls "Yo, I'll tell you what I want, what I really really want!" Louis burst out laughing. Ed had selected ”Wannabe” by the Spice Girls. 

For half a second, Louis hesitated; this was definitely completely ridiculous. But it had been his completely ridiculous idea, after all, and he couldn’t very well half-ass it, could he? 

He turned to Liam and shouted “I'll tell you what I want what I really really want!” Without missing a beat, Liam responded “So tell me what you want, what you really really want!” 

Then Ed and Olly were singing "I wanna, I wanna, I wanna, I wanna," completely disregarding the stares they were getting from the team. 

And as the chorus continued, something miraculous happened. The rest of the team started to join in. 

Soon, the locker room looked like the set of an insane, amateur High School Musical scene, with thirty guys screaming "SLAM YOUR BODY DOWN AND WIND IT ALL AROUND!" at the top of their lungs. 

The whole team was busting out their most absurd dance moves and singing every word (because obviously everyone knew all the words). 

Even Coach joined in during the last chorus for a rousing duet with Louis, to everyone’s delight. 

As they streamed out of the locker room for the second half, the entire team was grinning like mad and giggling like idiots. 

York swept the second half. They scored three times, bringing the final score to 3-1.

After that day, there was an unspoken agreement to never speak of what had happened to anyone outside the team. But it also became part of the team’s pre-game ritual.

* * *

 The post-game celebration was possibly the craziest that Louis had ever been to. In the midst of the euphoric chaos immediately after the match, the captains announced that the team was going to regroup at 9pm at Stone Roses—a nearby dive bar with cheap drinks, a rowdy crowd, and pool tables—for the afterparty. 

Changed, showered, and already a little tipsy from the two celebratory shots of whisky that he and Liam had taken back at the flat, Louis strode into the bar, Liam and Zayn on either side of him.

Zayn may have objected to football, but he certainly didn’t object to the notoriously raucous parties that the team hosted after winning matches. 

When the three of them walked into the bar, they were greeted by loud cheers from the team, led by Olly and Ed.

“If it isn’t our secret weapon! What up, Sporty Spice?!” Ed shouted at Louis. “The lord of the dance!” Olly added, beaming and clapping Louis on the back. Louis snickered and playfully hip-checked Olly. 

“Damn right,” he said. “Someone fetch the lord of the dance a drink!” Soon, a shot  was being pressed into his hands. He looked around to see that Zayn, Liam, Olly, and Ed were also holding shots.

“Here’s to the fucking Spice Girls! Bottoms up, boys!” he toasted, and slung back his shot, the rest of them following suit.

Liam sputtered; Zayn had already turned to talk to an attractive blonde girl standing nearby; Ed cackled; and Olly shouted “Cheers to that, mate!”

 

After that, Louis lost count of the drinks that he consumed. His teammates insisted on paying his tab for the night and he wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth. 

The night passed in a blur of taking shots, recapping the best moments of the match, and sloppy dancing to bubblegum top-40 that sober Louis would have sneered at. 

Louis had even found a cute boy to flirt with. He was also a student at York, a year younger than Louis and on the rugby team. But more importantly, he was hot: curly brown hair and warm brown eyes and biceps that were so beautiful that Louis kind of wanted to lick them. 

 

He and rugby boy had started dancing to a song by the Weeknd when Louis glanced over his shoulder and saw a familiar set of piercing green eyes staring right at him. 

It took him a second to remember where he had seen them before. And then, “Oh, shit. Coffee guy!” Louis exclaimed.

“What was that?” Rugby Guy asked. But Louis had already disentangled himself and taken off across the bar, toward the green-eyed man. 

Even from across the bar, coffee guy looked just as incredible as he had the other day. More, even. His long curly hair was swept to one side. His ripped black jeans were tight enough to cling to every muscle of his long legs and a ridiculous blue and white polka dot button down was unbuttoned about halfway down his ches, exposing tattoos peaking out below his collarbones.

Louis felt the sudden and unmistakable heat of arousal curling in his gut when their eyes met again. He wasn’t exactly sure what he was going to say to this guy, but drunk Louis was apparently really determined to say something, so in a matter of seconds, he was standing right in front of him. 

 

“Hi!” he said cheerfully. The stranger said nothing, so Louis continued. “I’m Louis!” Still nothing. “I—well,I jus’ wanted to say, like—sorry about the other morning.” Louis said, words slurring slightly. 

The stranger raised his eyebrows, taking in Louis’ appearance in a way that Louis guessed was far from favorable.  He was suddenly very aware that he looked distinctly wrinkled and disheveled; his hair was all messed up and he was sweaty from dancing and there was a beer stain on his gray v-neck. 

Louis plowed on nonetheless. “But look! Got my phone fixed,” he said, digging his phone out of his pocket and showing the man. 

 “Um…that’s great, I guess. Good for you," he said, green eyes suddenly sparkling with mirth.

Louis frowned. There was something in the man’s tone that he didn’t like. It was almost like he was laughing at Louis. If there’s one thing Louis hated, it was being laughed at. 

“No need to be rude. Just trying to say no harm done,” Louis replied in a clipped tone. The stranger laughed. “I wouldn’t go that far. You kind of ruined my shirt.”

So this was how it was going to be. “Said I was sorry. No need to be a prick about it,” Louis huffed, glaring at the man.

Okay, so maybe he was blowing things a little out of proportion. Maybe this had something to do with the fact that he was a bit of a belligerent drunk. Or maybe it was that this man was beautiful and confusing and wound Louis up in a way that he really didn't understand. 

Louis had just stopped to ponder the possibility that he was being a little unreasonable when another man bounded up to them. He had spiky blonde hair, rosy cheeks, and bright blue eyes. He wasn’t as striking as green eyes, but he was boyishly handsome.

When he spoke it was in a heavy Irish accent. “There ya are, Haz! Been lookin’ for ya everywhere!” he said, throwing an arm around the green-eyed man.

Louis looked at the arm casually slung across green eyes’ shoulder and the way that he had smiled and leaned into the touch. Blondie must be his boyfriend. Louis wasn’t sure why, but this realization bothered him. 

Green eyes cleared his throat and spoke. “Niall, this is Louis. The guy I was telling you about the other day. Coffee spiller.” 

They both looked at Louis and the blonde man roared with laughter. And, no. Louis was not going to be the butt of this man’s inside joke with his boyfriend. Coffee spiller? Uh-uh. 

“Right. Think that’s my cue,” he said abruptly, pointing vaguely in the other direction. Without another word, he marched off to where he’d just spotted Liam sitting alone at the bar looking woebegone.

Louis was fuming at what an ass this guy was when Liam looked up at him. From close up, Louis could see that he looked like shit. He recognized this expression. Liam was sad drunk and that was not a good thing. When Liam got like this, he was weepy and inconsolable and very hard to deal with. 

Louis was devising the best way to get Liam home as quickly as possible so he could sleep it off when Liam opened his mouth and blurted out the last thing Louis would ever have expected him to say: “Louis, I think I like guys.”

 

The words hung in the air, and they seemed to reach Louis’ brain in slow motion. For a moment, he just stood there, gaping uncomprehendingly.  But once Liam’s words registered, they hit Louis like a bucket of ice water, sobering him up at once. Right. Liam was obviously a wreck and he needed to get both of them out of this clusterfuck of a party as soon as possible.

Without another word, he took Liam by the elbow and steered them both out of the pub, somehow avoiding conversation or questions from any of their friends, who were all too drunk  and flush with excitement from the win to notice Louis and Liam.

“Okay, Li,” Louis said softly once they’d reached the entrance and walked into the crisp September night. “We’re gonna get you home. I’m just gonna go find Zayn.”  Liam’s eyes widened in panic. “No, no! Don’t do that. Don’t—don’t wanna go home just yet.”

Louis cursed the beer and the whisky and the tequila (ugh, what had he been thinking with those tequila shots?), which all had the combined effect of lulling his brain into a sleepy, slightly blurry fog.  He bit the inside of his cheek to wake himself up. Maybe Liam had chosen a slightly inconvenient time to drop this bombshell, but Louis would be damned if he wasn’t as supportive as he possibly could be.

“Right, of course. Anything you want,” said Louis, smiling at Liam in a way that he hoped was gentle and comforting rather than dopy and drunken.  It seemed to work, because Liam’s anguished expression softened slightly. “Maybe something to eat?” he asked, his voice trembling slightly and making Louis want to cry. Instead, he beamed at Liam. “Excellent idea! M’starving! What about the diner down the street from the flat?” Liam nodded, his face breaking into a watery smile.

 

Twenty minutes later, Louis had managed to navigate them through York's narrow, winding streets and into their favorite diner. He and Liam settled into a booth in the back of the restaurant and Liam sunk deep into his seat, putting his face in his hands while Louis ordered for both of them. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asked Liam cautiously.

Louis didn’t quite know how this was supposed to go. He had never had a “coming out” in the traditional sense. He had always known that he was gay, had known before he even had a word for it, and his family and close friends had too.

They had never questioned him or judged him or asked him to change. He thought that growing up in a house with a single mum and four sisters might have helped. Talking about guys with his sisters had never been weird, had even been natural.

People at school had more or less accepted him as well. There was the occasional sidelong glance and whisper behind Louis’ back, but Zayn had been fiercely protective of Louis and he had put an end to that kind of gossip. All in all, Louis had been really lucky. He had escaped the brutal world of adolescent intolerance and homophobia relatively unscathed.

 

All that to say, sitting across from an obviously-distressed Liam, Louis felt a little out of his depth. Liam looked up at him. His brown eyes, usually filled with warmth, were dull. He looked confused and scared and tired. So tired.

“I don’t really know what to say, that’s the first time I’ve said it out loud. It’s—I mean it started a few weeks ago, I guess? I just, well, there’s this guy…” At this, he gazed down furtively, suddenly very interested in the cheese fries that Louis has ordered for them to share.

“And I’ve known him for a long time now, and I always thought he was great, but never saw him…you know, like that. And then one day, something just changed. I don’t know what it was. Like a light switch turning on in my head. And then he’s all I can think about.”

“Sounds like you’ve got it bad for this guy,” Louis said, grinning a bit and nudging Liam’s knee with his foot. Liam grinned in spite of himself.

“I’m so into him, Lou. I’ve…I’ve never felt like this before. It’s like I’m not in control of my own brain, like he’s all I can think about.”

A small, shameful part of Louis wanted to see if he could wheedle the identity of this guy out of Liam. Someone in his classes? One of their mates on the soccer team?  But the larger, better part of Louis knew that, right now, that wasn’t important.

“I imagine that feeling that way is pretty confusing,” he said. “Since you’ve only ever dated girls.” Liam nodded vigorously. “Honestly, I thought I was going crazy at first. And the worst part was…still is, not knowing what any of this means. Like, is it some bout of temporary insanity or an intense crush? Is it this one guy or is it all guys? I don’t have any idea. And that’s fucking terrifying.” His eyes had gotten wild and he had started to speak quickly, frantically.

Louis nodded sympathetically. “That’s a lot to deal with all on your own. Would you ever consider maybe telling the guy how you feel?” This had clearly been the wrong thing to say. Liam’s eyes widened in sheer panic. “Fuck no!” he exclaimed, earning him a glare from their waitress, who was passing by to refill their waters. Liam apologized to the alarmed waitress and spoke in a more hushed tone.

“I don’t even know how I feel about him! And, God, it would just be a complete disaster. There’s no way he fancies me. It’s—well, it’s hard to explain, but it’s completely fucking impossible.” Louis backpedaled. “That’s completely fine. You should do what you’re comfortable with. I’m just glad that you have someone else to talk to about all this stuff.”

At that, Liam sighed. “God, I’m sorry to unload on you like this, Lou. It’s just—well, it’s been killing me, keeping it in. Eating me alive.” Louis frowned and shook his head. “Don’t apologize. You can always come to me. You know that,” he said firmly.

Liam smiled weakly. “I know. It’s just like, I know it’s a lot with football and school and everything.” Louis shook his head again, but this time he was smiling. “Always got time for you, Li Li. Just know that I expect you to return the favor when I’ve fallen madly in love with Perrie or summat.” At this, Liam burst out laughing. “That is officially the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever said. And that’s saying something.”

Louis huffed indignantly, but there  was laughter in his eyes. “What are you insinuating, Payno?” he asked haughtily. They bantered back and forth for a few minutes, and Louis was pleased to see that Liam looked a lot better already. He even polished off a sizable portion of the cheese fries.


	3. 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this chapter kind of sets the scene for the rest of the story in some ways...basically shit is going to start going down soon ;) hope y'all enjoy!

The rest of the weekend was thankfully much less dramatic than Saturday night's shitshow. Louis caught up on work and for once, felt somewhat rested by Monday.

It was a beautiful late September day, the kind of day where you could see and smell and almost taste the arrival of autumn, and it made for a pleasant walk to class.

As he walked into Vanbrugh, he pulled out the assigned reading and flipped to the end. He was scanning the last chapter of the book one last time when he rounded the corner where he had crashed into the curly-haired stranger last week.

After everything that had happened with Liam, he had completely forgotten about their encounter at the pub. Louis’ cheeks burned at the memory. He had made an ass of himself in front of thus guy. Again.

Maybe the guy had been kind of a dick, but had it really justified the scene Louis had caused. He grimaced to himself and cursed his penchant for drunken theatrics.

Then, he scanned the hallway for the stranger. In spite of his embarrassment about his behavior and his dislike of this guy, he almost wanted to see him striding up the corridor. 

Louis wasn’t sure why. Maybe he wanted a chance to redeem himself, apologize for his antics, and salvage his dignity. Something about the man got under Louis' skin, far more than a stranger ought to. It sent an inexplicable jolt of electricity through him every time he thought about it.

 

Louis arrived just as class was starting, so instead of trying to find Perrie and sit by her, he slipped into one of the few available seats. 

It was only after he’d pulled out his books and stowed his bag under his desk that he looked up toward the front of the room and saw Coleman chatting with another man.

A man with familiar long, curly hair and vivd green eyes and long legs and oh, shit. It was coffee guy. The guy who had witnessed Louis humiliate himself not once, but twice in the past week. What was he doing here? 

Coleman’s words from the previous week sprang into Louis’ head: “we’ll be having a special guest in class…I’ve asked him to join our class as my teaching assistant.” 

No. This couldn’t be him. This guy didn’t look any older than Louis, and he was way too hot to be the hard-hitting researcher Coleman had described.

But just as Louis was concluding that this was probably all a misunderstanding, that this guy was just in one of Coleman’s other classes or had walked into the wrong classroom by mistake, his professor turned to the class and said “Pipe down! There’s someone I want you to meet.” 

The class fell silent as he gestured to the man standing next to him. “This is Harry Styles. He’ll be helping us out for the semester.” Louis’ stomach sank as Harry Styles waved to the class.

 

Louis experienced what felt like a small panic attack as the realization sunk in. He had spilled coffee on his teaching assistant and then proceeded to drunkenly call him a prick. 

He was going to have to drop this class, maybe drop out of school entirely. Maybe even leave England.

“Maybe he won’t remember me,” Louis thought wildly as he saw the man’s eyes travel across the room, scanning the class. 

Then those wide green eyes landed on Louis and narrowed. His face fell into a kind of focused frown as he zeroed in on Louis, scrutinizing him until he squirmed in his seat. Okay, so he definitely remembered Louis. 

And wasn’t this just fantastic? This stranger had waltzed into Louis’ favorite class with his gorgeous fucking face and his posh fucking accent and his stupid fucking hair, and he’d ruined it. 

Before this, he’d rather thought that Coleman favored him. Louis worked hard and performed well on his assignments, regularly contributed to class discussion, and Coleman had even pulled him aside and told him that he really appreciated Louis’ insight. 

But clearly, that was over now. Because the brilliant, wonderful Harry Styles (what kind of name was Harry Styles, anyway, Louis thought bitterly) was going to tell Coleman that Louis was a total basket case. 

 

Harry spent the next five minutes going on about how excited he was to be helping out. 

He ended his spiel by saying, “I’m really excited to learn from all of you, and I can only hope that you learn a little bit from me as well."

Louis rolled his eyes. Honestly, who actually said shit like that? He looked around the room to see everyone else’s reaction. He was surprised and irrationally annoyed to find the rest of the class leaning into Harry’s words.

Coleman stepped forward. “The research that Harry has been doing for the last two years is on the cutting edge of abolition history, which makes it extremely relevant to the stuff we’ve been talking about. I wanted to spend some time today letting Harry tell you about himself and his research and then have all of you ask any questions you might have. So, Harry, take it away.”

Harry looked at the floor and smiled bashfully, earning another eye roll from Louis. “Please. Drop the fake modesty act,” he muttered. The girl next to him glared and shushed him.

Louis listened to Harry skeptically, determined to find fault with everything he said. But as Harry started to describe his research, Louis forgot that he hated this guy. He forgot that he was supposed to find Harry’s research stupid and dull. Because it just wasn’t. 

He talked about studying history at Oxford, about how he soon discovered a gap in the history of slavery, how he was determined to change that.

“I was sick of reading about all these rich old white people, people who wrote books and gave speeches without ever stopping to listen to the people they were supposedly advocating for. So I decided to look at abolitionism from the perspective of the people it affected most, from the slaves.”

Louis got completely lost in Harry’s descriptions of his travels and his research; so lost, in fact, that he was shocked when Coleman interjected, saying that their time was up for the day.

Louis shook himself. Sure, Harry Styles was a smart guy and no doubt, he had done some pretty cool things. But that didn’t change Louis’ anger at being laughed at, or his irritation with Harry’s whole Mr. Perfect charade.

As he packed up his stuff, he felt a pair of eyes on him. He looked up to see Harry Styles leaning against the blackboard and unapologetically staring at him. 

He had his head cocked to the side like he was studying Louis, trying to figure him out. Louis felt an involuntary shiver up his spine and quickly averted his eyes.

He felt thoroughly flustered. Was he supposed to say something? Acknowledge that the last time they had met he had been completely trashed? He was saved from having to make a decision one way or another when he looked up and saw that Harry was gone.

* * *

“Can you believe that guy?” he asked Perrie, falling into step with her as she left the classroom. “I know, he’s great, isn’t he?” she said. “Completely brilliant. And completely gorgeous. I might actually have to start doing the readings just to impress him."

Louis laughed. “Won’t do you any good, I’m afraid. He’s got a boyfriend.” Perrie whipped her head around to gawk at Louis. “What? You know him already? How? When? Where?” Louis laughed again and told her the whole sordid tale. 

Perrie was a great audience, laughing and gasping at all the right moments. When he was finished with his story, he and Perrie had almost made it back to his building. “Well, this is me, Louis said, gesturing in the direction of his street. 

“I’m this way,” Perrie said, pointing in the other direction. “But hey, wanna study later this week? Maybe Thursday night? I’ll bring wine and brownies for after,” said Perrie, blue eyes twinkling mischievously. 

Louis raised his eyebrows. “Really? What kind of brownies are we talking? Like, Oreo brownies? Caramel brownies?” Perrie laughed and smacked his shoulder. “You know perfectly well what kind of brownies I’m talking about, smart-ass. And I know you have no classes and late practice on Friday, so you have no excuse.”

“Yeah, that actually sounds really good. I’ll text you,” he promised. Perrie beamed. “Perfect, see ya later, Lou!” She gave him a peck on the cheek and sashayed down the street, her pink-streaked bleach blonde hair swinging behind her. 

 

By the time 8 o’clock Thursday night rolled around, Louis was more ready than ever to unwind. Coach had kept them late at practice despite the pouring rain, insisting that they run a new play until it was perfect. It took what felt like 7,000 attempts before Coach dismissed a very muddy and slightly disgruntled team. 

“What are you up to tonight?” Liam asked him as they left the pitch. “Perrie’s coming over. Bringing wine and…other things,” Louis said with a sly smile. “Wanna join?” he asked. 

“I actually haven’t seen Pez in forever. You sure you don’t mind? Wouldn’t wanna intrude,” Liam said sheepishly.

“Don’t be stupid. It’s Pez. She’ll be thrilled to see you. And have someone besides me to talk to,” Louis snickered. 

An hour later, he, Perrie and Liam were sitting on the floor of Louis’ room with an empty bottle of wine and three coffee mugs strewn around them. 

“Honestly, Louis, you need to invest in some real wine glasses. “Makes me feel 16 years old drinking out of a fucking coffee cup," Petrie said.

Louis just shrugged. “Whatever works, I say.” Perrie shook her head, opening a second bottle. 

They spent the evening drinking more than they should, laughing uproariously, and eventually breaking into the stash of edibles Perrie had brought along. 

By midnight, all three of them were sprawled on Louis’ bed grinning stupidly and talking about nothing.

Louis was sitting at the corner of the bed, completely wrapped up in blankets. He looked up at them out of the blue and said very somberly: "When I die, don't wrap me up like a burrito. I don't want to die a burrito.”

Perrie burst out laughing but Liam gazed at Louis and, in an equally serious tone, replied, “Of course, man. I’d never let you be a burrito,” which made Perrie laugh until tears were rolling down her face. “You two,” she gasped, “are fucking mental.” 

 

Louis’ bedroom door opened and Zayn’s head popped in. “Sounds like a fucking den of hyenas in here."

When he saw Zayn, Liam’s face lit up, breaking into a comically blissful grin. “Zaaaaayn,” he gushed. “C’mere.” 

Zayn raised his perfectly-sculpted eyebrows. He looked around the room, taking in the empty wine bottles and tupperware container with the lid ajar, one brownie remaining. “Really?” he asked. 

At that, all three of their faces broke into slightly guilty, dopy grins. Zayn turned to go, saying “I’ll just leave you to it, then.” 

Liam rose from the bed, stumbling slightly and then lumbered over to Zayn. “Noooo, Zaynie stayyy!” Liam whined, tugging on Zayn’s hand petulantly. 

Now, Louis was drunk. And high. And pretty fucking out of it. But despite all of that, he recognized the look that Liam was giving Zayn. The way he was unconsciously leaning into Zayn like a flower preening toward the sun. 

In that moment, several things clicked. The way that Liam had clammed up last week in the bookshop when Zayn had walked in the room. The fact that Zayn had complained about Liam avoiding him. The panic that had crossed Liam’s face when Louis went to get Zayn at the bar last weekend.

Liam liked guys. Because Liam liked Zayn.

 

It was a miracle that Louis didn’t gasp or curse or fucking scream the moment the thought crossed his mind.

He had no filter at the best of times and Louis after a bottle of of wine and a pot brownie didn’t exactly qualify as the best of times.

“Hello? Earth to Louis?” Louis shook his head rapidly and looked around. Three pairs of eyes were fixed on him.

“Pull it together, Louis,” he thought to himself. After all, there was a very real chance that he was imagining all of this, that it was just the wine and the weed playing tricks on his mind. 

“Sorry,” said Louis at last. “That’s some strong shit, Pez.” 

"If you can’t handle the heat, stay out of the kitchen. Speaking of kitchens, I’m fucking starving!” 

“Yeah, I’m hungry too. That last brownie actually looks delicious,” Zayn said innocently.

Perrie rolled her eyes and told Zayn to help himself. “Then Tesco for a snack run,” Louis whined. “Now that you mention it, m’starving!” 

 

Half an hour later, the four of them were walking into the grocery down the block from their flat, looking like quite the motley crew with pajamas and slightly shifty expressions on their faces.

As always, Liam was endearingly paranoid about being caught. “We don’t look stoned, do we? Because Coach has a zero tolerance policy. Lou, what if we, like, got kicked off the team? Or expelled? Or arrested?!”

Perrie and Louis both dissolved into giggles. Zayn snorted and bumped Liam’s hip with his own. “I think we’re fine, Li."

At the contact, Liam’s eyes widened for a moment, then his face relaxed into a happy grin. 

They headed straight for the snack section, piling a truly atrocious variety of junk foods into their shopping basket.

“Ooh, crisps; I want all the fucking crisps,” Louis said to no one in particular, grabbing two different flavors.

Zayn wordlessly dropped three bags of Sour Patch Kids into the basket. “Really, Zee?” Louis asked. “Only God can judge me,” Zayn said solemnly.

“Honestly, we should do this more often,” he said to the others as they rounded the corner to the beverage aisle because Perrie  had insisted on buying fancy ass sodas to round out their haul.

“Jesus Pez, you’re so fucking picky when you’re stoned,” Louis groaned loudly as they stepped into the aisle.

Louis heard a chuckle and looked up to see that there was another person standing in the aisle. And that person was Harry motherfucking Styles.

 

Louis was hallucinating. He had to be. But when he shut his eyes tight and opened them again, Harry was still standing there, peering at him with poorly-disguised amusement, looking way more put together than anyone had the right to look at 1 in the fucking morning.

Louis was suddenly painfully aware of how he must look with his red-rimmed eyes and pajamas and messy hair and basket heaped with shitty snack food.

Harry had certainly noticed, seeing as his eyes were shining a bit brighter than usual and his mouth was curled into a roguish grin that made him even more attractive than usual.

“Louis,” he said. And Louis definitely didn’t take any pleasure in the way that his name sounded in Harry’s deep, throaty voice. Nope.

Because right now, Louis was too busy wondering if Harry Styles was actually an alien sent to Earth  to completely humiliate him.

Louis gaped wordlessly at Harry. He was supposed to respond. But his mind was drawing a blank. it was like he'd completely lost the ability to speak. Oh, God, he needed to say something. Anything.

At last, he blurted out the first thing to come into his mind. “Are you stalking me or something?” he asked before he could stop to think that this was a ridiculous thing to say to someone, especially someone who was practically a perfect stranger.

Harry’s green eyes narrowed and he let out a derisive laugh. “Yeah, I actually have a habit of stalking people who yell at me every time I see them.”

Louis’ cheeks tinged pink. He knew that he should just laugh it off, apologize, and make a vow never to embarrass himself in front of Harry Styles again.

But since when had Louis done anything he was supposed to do? He heard the words coming out of his mouth before he made the decision to say them.

“Well, it would help if you didn’t walk around with that smug expression on your face all the time.”

And oh, Jesus, why? Why, why, why had Louis opened his damn mouth in the first place? And why had that, of all things, come out? 

Harry was going to be furious and he was going to tell Coleman and Louis was going to fail that class.

But strangely enough, Harry didn’t look mad. He looked shocked, sure. He was gaping at Louis like he was some type of exceedingly bizarre exotic animal that he'd never seen before, but there was no anger clouding his expression.

After a few seconds in which Louis and Harry stared wordlessly at one another, someone at the far side of the aisle called Harry’s name.

Their gaze broke abruptly as they both turned to look for the source of the interruption, and for some reason Louis felt a jolt.

There was something about those green eyes. Something that made him feel rooted to the spot whenever Harry fixed him with that oddly intense, surveying stare. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been affected by someone like this; it was disconcerting.

“Harry? Does it really take you ten minutes to pick out beers? You promised we’d stop at the gyro stand on the way home and it’s gonna close soon!”

Louis recognized the man’s Irish lilt right away. It was the guy who had been with Harry at the pub last week. Harry blinked and then shook his head a little and cleared his throat.

“Yeah, coming Niall.” With his head turned to the side, the sharp cut of Harry's jawline was frankly devastating and his cheekbones could probably cut glass.

Louis’ appreciation was cut short when Harry turned back to him and said, “Right. Well. See you in class.”

He gave Louis a quick smirk and then he was gone, off for what was bound to be a romantic evening of gyros and beer with this Niall character.

 

A long moment of silence followed Harry’s departure. Finally, Zayn turned to Louis and asked “Who the fuck was that?” sending Perrie and Liam into a fit of giggles.

“He’s our new TA!” Perrie explained as they made their way to the register with their selections. “But he and Lou go way back, have a special relationship don’t you?”

Louis rolled his eyes. “Bugger off, Pez.” Then he turned to Zayn, saying, “His name is Harry Styles and he’s the fucking worst. Every time I see him I make a complete fool of myself, which he seems to take some kind of sadistic pleasure in.”

Zayn eyed Louis skeptically. “How’s it this bloke’s fault that you're an embarrassing git?”

At this, Louis threw his hands in the air. “And you people call yourselves my friends! No loyalty whatsoever!”

 

Two hours later, a markedly more sober Louis found himself at the kitchen sink, washing the cups and plates that had been strewn around his room during the course of the night’s festivities.

As he tidied up, Louis contemplated the events of that evening. He tried to figure out whether he was going to tell Liam that he knew about Zayn or let him tell Louis on his own. He wondered whether Zayn could be interested in Liam romantically.

But while he worried over his friends, there was a niggling thought in the back of his mind. A thought that involved someone tall and lean with curly hair that was a bit too long.

Why did he keep running into Harry Styles everywhere he went? And why did it bother him so damn much?

Harry was the type of person who annoyed Louis even at the best of times. With his posh London accent and his Oxford degree and his expensive-looking clothes and his smug little smirk.

It wasn’t that Louis disliked successful people. But there was something about the way that Harry wore his success so easily, as if he was used to it, had never had to really work for it.

Louis couldn’t exactly figure it out, but it bugged him. Plus, it didn’t help that Harry seemed to have a knack for making Louis feel completely inadequate every time they came into contact.

Even so, seeing Harry tonight had ignited this weird tingling sensation in the bottom of Louis’ stomach that still hadn’t gone away. “Whatever, you’re tired. And high,” Louis said announced to the empty kitchen. “And talking to yourself, apparently,” he added, chuckling and drying off the last mug before heading to bed.

* * *

Louis had been decidedly more responsible for the rest of the weekend. When he wasn’t on the football pitch, he was in the library getting ahead on reading assignments and putting the finishing touches on his essay for Coleman’s class.

He was really proud of this paper. He felt like it was his best so far and he couldn’t wait for his professor to read the final product.

A small part of him hoped that Harry would be reading the class’ essays as well, and that Louis might be able to show that he wasn't a total idiot.

When he walked into class, Perrie waved him over to where she was sitting and he tried to avoid looking at Harry, who was unpacking his things at a seat in the front, as he crossed the room to her row.

Perrie’s blonde and pink hair was perched on top of her head in two mini pigtail buns, and she was wearing a black crop top and burgundy velvet overalls that just about summed up her eclectic style. “Hey, Pez,” he greeted her, but she couldn’t hear him over the music blasting through her headphones.

A moment later, however, she had removed the headphones and turned to him. “Huh?” she asked and Louis rolled his eyes. “I don’t understand why you insist on listening to that pop garbage 24/7.”

Perrie shot him a death glare that actually scared him a little bit. “Carly Rae Jepsen is a fucking treasure and also the queen of pop.”

Their argument was interrupted when Coleman strode into the room, removed his scarf and jacket, and called “Papers to the front, please, everyone!”

Perrie scowled and removed her paper from her bag, mouthing “Mine’s such shit,” before passing to forward. Louis carefully removed his own essay from its folder and passed it to the person in front of him.

After the flurry of paper shuffling and passing had ended and Coleman had stacked all the essays in a neat pile in front of him, he turned to the class and announced that class was going to be discussion-based that day.

Perrie let out a small groan and whispered, “Jesus, don’t tell me I’m going to have to listen to these knobheads blather on for an hour and a half.” Louis shushed her, but he was grinning as he turned back to the front. 

Louis was in his element; he jumped into the discussion regularly and enthusiastically. Despite Perrie’s bitching, even she couldn’t help but chime in when the discussion turned to the place of feminism in the abolition movement.

Surprisingly, Harry was the only person in the room who stayed silent the entire time. Louis would have pegged him as the type to show off everything he knew, but instead, he listened raptly to everyone else, scribbling notes almost non-stop.

At one point while Louis was speaking, he glanced over at Harry and saw him leaning in and nodding along, tongue between his teeth and green eyes narrowed in focus as wrote rapid-fire on his pad. For some inexplicable reason, the sight made Louis lose his thread momentarily. 

“One thing, before you leave, guys,” the professor called as everyone began to pack their bags.

“I’ve decided to take on a research assistant from this class,” he said after he had everyone’s attention. “As all of you know, I’m working on a book right now, and it turns out that I need a little extra help with the research. So if you’re interested, come talk to me after class or email me. That’s it; have a good week!” 

 

The class started chatting again, but Louis was oddly quiet as he packed up. On one hand, this was kind of a dream come true. Coleman was his favorite professor, this was his favorite class, and the research sounded pretty amazing.

But what if he asked Coleman, put himself out there, and then didn’t get chosen? He didn’t think he could stand showing his face in class again.

Louis wasn’t a person who handled rejection particularly gracefully. Truth be told, that was an understatement. Louis couldn’t handle coming in second place. Zayn still liked to tell the story of the time that Louis chucked a football at his coach’s head after he put Louis on second string when they were about 6 years old.

Louis snapped out of his thoughts and turned to see Perrie looking at him knowingly. “What?” he asked her.

“You’ll get it if you ask, Lou,” she said simply. “You don’t know that!” he whined. She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I do. Coleman loves you. You’re the best in the class, and everybody knows it. Honestly, if you don’t ask, you’re an idiot.”

With those words of encouragement, Perrie wished him luck and waved goodbye, leaving Louis to awkwardly linger until all of the other students had cleared out.

After a minute or so, the only people left in the room were Louis, Coleman, and Harry. In light of the multiple times Louis had humiliated himself in front of Harry in the past several days, he wasn’t thrilled at the thought of asking his professor about the research assistant position in front of Harry.

Louis was a little bit afraid that Harry might tell Coleman that he was a bad fit for the job. It wouldn’t be unreasonable. After all, Harry had every reason to believe that Louis was totally unstable.

But Harry didn’t show any sign that he was leaving, so Louis sighed heavily and barreled on. “Professor Coleman, about what you said just now,” he paused.

Fuck, how did he say this and not sound weird? And why had his brain chosen this moment to forget the English language? He cleared his throat and started again.

“I just—uh, well. I want to, I mean I’m interested in the, you know, research thing,” he trailed off lamely. God, this was not going well. Coleman just chuckled. “Well said, Tomlinson,” he said good-naturedly, patting Louis on the back.

“Honestly, I want to read everyone’s essays before I make a final decision. I need to make sure that the person I choose can do good, sound research. But you’ve been doing great work, Louis, and you’ve got a really good shot at this.”

Louis nodded. “Right. Thank you, sir,” he said and brushed past Harry out of the room, cursing his embarrassing tendency to ramble when he was nervous, but also feeling like he might actually have a chance at this after all.

* * *

 The following evening, Louis and Zayn were laid out in their flat’s tiny living room, eating pizza straight from the box and chatting aimlessly. The telly was on in the background—some dreadful reality show about parents spying on their teenagers’ spring breaks—but neither of them was really paying attention.

Zayn listened to Louis prattle on about his classes, football (though he cut him off after ten minutes), his anxiety about the research assistant position. In turn, Zayn told Louis about a tricky philosophy essay that he was trying to write and a guy who wouldn’t stop texting him after they’d hooked up last month.

“Oh, and I’m trying to design a robot,” he said casually. Louis burst out laughing. “Excuse me? Did you just say you’re building a fucking robot?” he asked.

Zayn scowled. “Of course I’m not building a robot, you tit. Haven’t got an extra 100,000 pounds laying around, do I? I’m designing a robot,” he said, as if this was the most normal thing in the world.

“But, now that you mention it, my prof wants me to apply for a grant that would actually let me build it.”

His eyes lit up and Louis grinned. A robot. Honestly. There were times when Louis forgot how fucking brilliant Zayn was.

He was studying both philosophy and engineering. Louis remembered Zayn having to get special permission to double enroll back in their first year.

He had tested out of all of the maths prerequisites in the engineering program and had gone straight to the most advanced courses.

Zayn was one of those infuriating genius types who breezed through his classes without making too much of an effort because everyone was too blown away by how smart he was to care that he was usually late to class.

But it wasn’t just book smarts. Zayn was razor sharp, intuitive. He observed people and figured things out about them in a way that was almost uncanny.

It made Louis wonder whether Zayn knew how Liam felt about him yet. Louis studied his friend for a moment, as if something in his face would give him away.

Zayn caught Louis’ eye and said “Remember when we were talking about Liam the other day? Did you ever figure out what was up with him?”

Louis stared at him in disbelief. Sometimes Louis swore that Zayn could read his mind; it was downright eerie.

Louis wasn’t sure how to respond. There was no way he was going to tell Zayn what Liam had told him in confidence. But if he tried to lie, Louis knew that Zayn would see right through it and call bullshit.

There had never been secrets between the three of them, and Louis loved that about their friendship. So it was with a heavy heart that he sighed and said “Yeah, I did. But it’s…I can’t tell you. Its a secret.” Zayn raised his eyebrows.

“A secret? What is this, primary school?” Louis shook his head. “M’ sorry, Zee. I really can’t say anything else.”

Zayn looked at Louis hard for a few moments before realizing that he wasn’t going to budge.

“Yeah, okay,” he said resignedly, but there was a note of hurt in his voice. “You know I’m gonna find out sooner or later, though, don’t you?”

At that Louis sighed. Because, yes, Zayn was definitely going to figure it out sooner or later. And things would get complicated.

Louis didn’t want to think about that at the moment, so he changed the subject, saying “What do you say we play some video games? Halo, maybe? Or I could kick your ass in FIFA.”

But Zayn just sighed deeply and said that he was tired, so they both gathered the detritus of pizza boxes and soda cans, dumped it all in the kitchen garbage, and wandered off to their respective rooms.

* * *

The next week passed in a blur. As September turned into October, the air got colder and crisper, and the leaves in the trees were just beginning to fade from vivid greens to sunburnt yellows and oranges.

Louis was almost too busy to notice. The football season was really picking up now, and Louis spent every moment that he wasn’t asleep, in class, or at work training.

That meant forcing himself out of bed for early morning jogs, letting Liam drag him to the gym to lift weights (even though Louis hated it), and working his ass off at practice four days a week.

 

As was their Friday tradition, Olly, Ed, Louis, and Liam went out for a pint after practice to talk shop about team strategy. That night, they discussed the coming match against Newcastle while they drank their first beer.

By the time that Louis returned with their second round, the others had shifted gears and were discussing team dynamics. At first, Liam had protested that, as captains, they really shouldn’t be gossiping.

Ed just shrugged and replied “Oh, come on, Li. It’s our captainly duty to know what’s going on with the team,” his eyes gleaming mischievously.

Ed was such a kind, down-to-earth guy, but he secretly loved to gossip, and this side of him always came out after a couple beers.

Ed continued what he had been saying before the interruption. “Apparently—“ he looked around conspiratorially before continuing— “Stan and Luke aren’t getting along,” he said in a hushed tone. “They’ve had a row over some girl in their English lit class.”

Olly frowned and said “I thought Luke was hooking up with someone else.” He thought for a moment before turning to Liam and Louis and saying, “Right! I heard he was fooling around with your flatmate, Zayn!”

Ed started to respond to that, but Louis had stopped listening. He whipped his head around to see Liam’s reaction, and his heart sank when he saw that Liam was staring fixedly at a foot above Olly’s head.

He was smiling, but it was a terrible, forced smile and after a moment he spoke in a slightly shaky voice. “Slide out, Ed. Gotta use the loo.”

He exited their booth, but instead of walking toward the bathroom, he exited the bar. Louis immediately slid out of his seat and followed Liam outside.

 

Louis found Liam outside, leaning dejectedly against the front of the building. “You okay, man?” he asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

Liam took one look at Louis and said, “You know, don’t you. About Zayn.” It wasn’t a question. Louis sighed. “Yeah, mate. I kinda guessed.”

Liam buried his head in his hands. “Fuck, is it that obvious?” Louis interjected. “No, no, it’s not. I mean, after what you told me a couple weeks back, I just…figured it out.”

Liam laughed mirthlessly. “Well, maybe you can tell me what I should do, because I haven’t got a fucking clue.”

Louis studied him for a long moment. “When did it start?" He finally asked.

Liam sighed,. "I guess it was like a month into term, so around the end of August."

Louis winced internally. How had he missed the fact the Liam was struggling for more than a month?

Liam continued, “It kinda came out of nowhere. Like, when you went home for the weekend, the two of us went to the pub like we have a hundred times, but this time, it was…I dunno. Different? Nothing happened obviously, but I remember thinking to myself, ‘what if something happened?’ And it didn’t freak me out. Like, I almost wanted something to happen."

"But then I didn’t even know how that would work. I thought it was just me being drunk or whatever. Everyone knows that Zayn's fit, y’know? But then the next day I couldn’t stop thinking about it. About him. And then it had been a week, and then a month.”

He finally paused and took a deep breath. “And now all I can do is just think about it and drive myself fucking mad.” Louis listened intently, and then contemplated Liam for a few moments.

Finally, Louis spoke. “Well, what do you want to do about it?” Liam scrunched up his face in confusion. “What do you mean? What can I do?”

“Come off it! You have a lot of choices! You can tell Zayn how you feel,” Louis started but Liam shook his head violently. “Or,” Louis continued, “you can decide not to do anything and see if the feelings go away.”

Louis could tell by the look on Liam’s face that he didn’t think this was really a possibility. “Or flirt with other guys, see how it feels, maybe hook up with a guy, or whatever you’re comfortable with.”

At this, Liam looked mildly terrified but intrigued. “Maybe if you have a little more experience with men, you’ll be more equipped to deal with how you feel about Zayn.”

Liam nodded slowly. “That makes sense,” he said slowly. “But like, how would I even go about that? I don’t know how to talk to guys.“

Louis chuckled. “Oh, believe me, you’ll be just fine. They’ll be lining up to talk to you. Guys check you out all the time when we go out.” At this news, Liam looked flabbergasted. “What?” he gasped. “They do?”

“Oh, totally. You’re like all muscular and athletic but you’ve still got the sensitive soulful thing. Trust me, guys love that,” he assured Liam, who actually fucking blushed.

“Really?” he asked, grinning. “Well, don’t let it go to your head,” Louis told him. “But yeah. You have nothing to be nervous about.”

Liam thought for a few moments. “Yeah, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to try. Just to see how it goes.”

Louis beamed. “That’s the spirit! We can go out this weekend if you want. I’ll go with you, make sure you feel alright the whole time, it’ll be great.”

Liam thought for a moment, and then said, “You know what? Let’s do it. After the match on Saturday.” Louis nodded vigorously.

“Shall we?” Liam asked, gesturing to the entrance of the pub. “Sure, unless you wanna bail. I can text Ed and say we’re heading out early.”

“Nah, that’s okay," he said, holding the door open for Louis They walked back toward their booth, where a more-than-slightly tipsy Ed and Olly were chatting away, completely oblivious to the drama unfolding right under their noses.

* * *

Over the next few days, Louis started to get really nervous about the research assistant thing. He really admired Coleman, and the thought of Coleman saying that Louis wasn’t good enough to work with him was terrible, humiliating. 

By the time he walked into Coleman’s class on Tuesday, he was feeling slightly ill. This whole thing had been a huge mistake. Who was he kidding thinking that he had a good chance at this? Coleman had probably just said that to be nice; there was no way Harry hadn’t told him that he was completely mental. 

“What’s wrong?” Perrie asked the second she saw him. “Nothing,” he murmured unconvincingly as he sank into his seat. “Bullshit!” Perrie responded. “You’re all pale and…are your hand’s shaking? Louis, what’s going on?” 

“If you must know, Coleman told me he’s going to let me know about the research thing today, so I’m a bit nervous," he said tightly.

At that, Perrie actually burst out laughing. “Are you serious? Lou, come on! I told you; you’re going to get this!”

The 90 minutes of class, which usually flew by, seemed to drag on for about a decade. Louis, usually eager to participate, hardly said a word. Finally, finally, Coleman announced the end of class and shut down the slideshow.

 

“Louis, can I talk to you for a moment?” Coleman called over the din of students chatting and gathering their belongings. Oh, god; this was it. Louis’ heart was hammering so hard that he thought he could feel it trying to break out of his ribcage.

He stood up on legs that suddenly felt made of lead and made his way to the front of the room. Surely it shouldn’t take this long to walk 15 feet across a room. And why did he feel like he was walking through Jello?

When he finally got there, Coleman was talking to Harry, but when he saw Louis, he looked up and smiled.

“Louis! Really great work on your essay! Your research was very impressive. I want you to help out with the research for my book.”

Louis froze for a moment, his brain unable to process what he'd just heard.

“Are you shitting me?” he blurted after a long moment.

Coleman burst out laughing. “I am not, in fact, shitting you,” he said. “So is that a yes?”

Louis nodded vigorously. “Y-yes, sir. Thank you so much!” Coleman grinned. “Excellent! This is great! I think that you and Harry are going to work really well together.”

 

Wait, what? What was that supposed to mean? His confusion must have shown on his face, because Coleman explained, “Harry’s been helping me out with this project, but it’s really too much for one person, plus Harry has his own full course load, so you’ll be assisting him.”

This could not be real life. No fucking way. This had to be a joke.

But instead of shouting “Just kidding!” as Louis wildly hoped that he would, Coleman continued, “Since the person I chose would mostly be working with Harry one-on-one, he was a big part of this decision-making process. And, well, he insisted on working with you. Said your paper was brilliant, that you seemed really bright, and that he wanted to work with you over anyone else.”

Automatically, Louis turned to where Harry was still standing next to Coleman. Harry was wide-eyed and a flush had begun to settle high on his cheeks.

Clearly, Harry had not intended for Coleman to say what he had just said, especially while he was in the room.

Harry looked up at Louis, his green eyes meeting Louis’ blue ones. He cleared his throat and said, “Yeah, well, I mean…you’re—um, it was a good essay."

Louis could hardly believe it, but Harry Styles was rambling like an idiot. The brilliant, perfect Harry Styles was obviously flustered.

But what might even be more shocking was that Harry wanted to work with Louis, had insisted on working with him.

Which was unbelievable, really. Because five minutes ago, Louis would have been willing to bet his left foot that Harry Styles saw him as a complete and total joke. But this, well, this changed things, didn’t it?


	4. 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one's longer than the others, and i think they'll continue to get longer as everything picks up. things are moving a bit more quickly now, hope you enjoy!! :)

When he got back to his flat, Louis put the wrong key in the lock three different times, accidentally walked into Zayn’s room instead of his own, and once he finally got into his room, he couldn’t for the life of him remember what he was supposed to be doing. 

He couldn’t wrap his mind around this. He was going to be Coleman’s research assistant, which was good. Great. But he wasn’t going to be working with Coleman. He was going to be working with Harry fucking Styles. 

Harry made him feel like an idiot when they saw each other at the supermarket. He didn’t even want to think about how stupid he was going to feel doing actual, serious, real-life research with Harry. 

And speaking of things that he couldn’t even begin to wrap his brain around, apparently Harry had “insisted” on working with him. In what world did that make any fucking sense?

 

He was still thinking about it when he and Zayn grabbed an early dinner in the campus’ main dining hall that night, which is why he was completely tuned out of Zayn’s multiple attempts to make conversation.

After about 5 minutes of watching Louis stare pensively into space, Zayn said “Anything you’d like to share with the class, Lou?” 

Louis started. “No, it’s nothing,” he said unhelpfully. Zayn gave Louis a look. 

“Okay, it’s kind of something,” he admitted, and launched into an explanation of the situation. 

Ten minutes later, he was still airing his grievances with a kind of savage enthusiasm. 

“I just know it’s going to be awful. You should see this guy, Zee. Everyone thinks he’s _so_ great but he’s the biggest fucking know-it-all within a 50-mile radius. You can just tell he thinks he’s hot shit. I can’t figure out why he picked me to work with. Probably to make himself feel even more superior than he already does. Because he thinks I’m a fucking moron, and—“ 

"Dude, why do you care?” Zayn cut across Louis mid-rant. That shut Louis up. He opened his mouth to respond, and then closed it again, struggling for something to say. 

Truthfully, he shouldn’t care so much and he knew it. After all, Harry was just an obnoxious TA in one of his classes. It wasn’t like Harry had any control over his grade, and Louis definitely shouldn’t give a shit what Harry thought about him.

Why was Louis so riled up about having to spend a couple of hours a week with this guy?

”Haven’t got the hots for teacher, have you?" Zayn asked. "Of course not," Louis retorted, more snappy than he meant it. "And he's not the teacher, he's a TA," Louis muttered, looking down to pick at a nonexistent stain on his shirt.

Jesus, why was he being so weird about this? Zayn backed off, but not before giving Louis a searching look. “Okay, Lou, whatever you say.” 

The fact was, something about Harry got under his skin, and he couldn't put his finger on what it was. 

"Yes, you can," said a tiny voice in the back of his mind. "You know exactly why you can’t get this out of your head." 

Louis frowned and then shook his head, shoving the thought out of his mind. "M just stressed about match on Saturday," he said more to himself than Zayn, who had already turned his attention back to shoveling most of a slice of pizza into his mouth.

* * *

Truth be told, Louis wasn't actually stressed about the match on Saturday. They were favored to win and the whole team had been training their asses off and Louis felt fairly confident by the time he and Liam left practice Friday evening.

"You better look alive, Payne. Tomorrow’s a big day,” Louis said as they pushed through the double doors of the locker room. “Yeah, in more ways that one,” Liam replied, his warm brown eyes twinkling mischievously.

Louis raised his eyebrows. He had almost forgotten about Operation Get Liam a Man. “Well, look at you! Not so bashful anymore, are we?” he asked delightedly. 

Liam grinned. “I’m actually kind of…I don’t know, excited? Like, I feel like this actually might help me figure some shit out.” 

Louis hummed happily. “Happy to hear it,” he smiled. Liam turned to him. “What about you?” he asked Louis. “Are you trying to y’know, meet someone?” 

Louis scoffed. “Please. Tomorrow, my sole purpose is to be the world’s best wingman.” 

"Y’know it’s not like you have to be my chaperone the whole time. You can have fun too. It’s been a pretty long time, hasn’t it?” 

"Don’t worry about me, Li. Let’s just focus on teaching you how to talk to boys, yeah?” Liam nodded, reassured. 

It had been a really long time since Louis had “met anyone,” as Liam had put it. 

He thought back. Jesus, had it really been since the beginning of summer hols? The first week he'd been home, he had gone drinking with Zayn and a few of their other friends and he had met a guy whose name he no longer recalled and enjoyed a drunken hookup in the back of the bloke’s car. 

Louis found himself imagining going to a bar, knocking back a few drinks and finding someone to fool around with. 

That was really the only kind of hook up that Louis did. Anonymous, alcohol-fueled, and usually a little bit sloppy. It was better that way. Simple, sweet, and utterly uncomplicated. Everyone’s needs got met and no one got hurt. 

Louis thought about the dark dance floor, the pounding of the beat, a pair of long arms wrapping around his waist and pulling him into someone tall and lean. 

He pictured leaning into that body, imagined a deep, throaty voice murmuring in his ear. 

In his mind’s eye, Louis tilted his head up to see who that voice belonged to and was greeted by a large pair of bright green eyes. 

Louis jolted, shaking his head violently. No . Nope. That’s enough of that, he thought to himself, trying to ignore the warmth curling in the bottom of his stomach. Because that simply wasn’t an option.

 

The next morning dawned crisp and clear. There was a chilly bite in the air that Louis was thankful for. He hated playing in the heat, and preferred it to be a bit cooler on game days. 

The game was a piece of cake. It was clear that York was the better team, and soon they were running circles around Newcastle. By the end of the first half, York was up by three points. The final score was a whopping 5-0. 

Zayn was far too lazy to wake up for the start of their early games, but he had slipped into the stands just after halftime, and was waiting for Liam and Louis at the sidelines after they emerged from the locker room. 

“Well done, mates,” he said, slinging a casual arm over Liam’s shoulder. Louis, who had a heightened sensitivity for Liam-Zayn contact these days, observed as Liam visibly tensed at the unanticipated touch and Zayn, who had felt Liam’s body stiffen, looked over at him, the ghost of a frown on his face. 

Sensing that it would be best to shut this situation down sooner rather than later, Louis clapped his hands together and said, “Well, I don’t know about you lads, but I’m starving. Lunch, anyone?” 

Thankfully, the momentary awkwardness seemed to be forgotten as the three men headed off the pitch and toward their favorite sandwich shop. 

Louis had taken the closing shift at Blackwell’s that day, so by the time he had eaten, showered, and changed, it was nearly time to be at the shop. 

He assured Liam that he would be back in plenty of time to have a couple drinks before they headed to the soccer party and then on Liam’s man-scouting adventure. “Just pick up some beers or something, yeah?” he called on his way out the door.

* * *

When he arrived at the shop, Kathy was waiting for him with a tired smile on her face and her two sons trailing around her heels. “Had to bring them to the shop today. My regular sitter is down with the flu,” she explained.

Louis frowned. “Sorry, Kath. Y’know, my friend Perrie babysits every now and again. She’s quite good with kids if you want me to give you her number.” Kathy patted his hand. “You’re wonderful, Lou,” she said warmly.

“Colin! Put down that book, it’s fragile!” Kathy ordered her younger son, who had been poking around the shop’s small rare books section. 

He dropped the book with a guilty expression and turned to his mother. His face lit into a bright smile when he saw Louis.

“Hi, Lou! Did you have a football match today?” he asked. Louis had never met another 6-year old who knew as much about football as Colin, and every time he saw Louis, he peppered him with questions about being on “a proper football team.” Louis launched into a play-by-play of the most exciting moments of the match. 

Before long, Colin’s older brother, Andrew cut Louis’ account of the game short, pulling on the sleeve of his polo and saying “Lou, Lou, guess what, Lou? I’ve got a part in the school play! We’re doing Jack in the Beanstalk, and I’m Jack!” 

Louis beamed and clapped the 8-year old on the shoulder. “That’s fantastic!” he exclaimed. “I’ll need to get your autograph now before you become famous and forget all of us little people!” 

Kathy announced that it was time to go, making both boys groan. “Mum! I was telling Louis about the play!” Andrew whined. “And Louis was telling me football stories,” Colin pouted. Louis chuckled. 

“How about this, next time I’m over for dinner, we can talk about the play and football and whatever else you want, sound good?” he asked them. They nodded eagerly and let their mother slip them into their jackets. 

Kathy shot him a grateful look and mouthed “Thank you” as she ushered the boys out of the shop and into the cool autumn afternoon.

 

The door tinkled shut behind them, leaving Louis in that dusty, comfortable silence that belongs uniquely to old bookstores. Louis relished the solitude and the smell of the books for a moment before pulling a book for Coleman’s class out of his bag and leaning against the counter to read it.

After twenty minutes or so without any customers, Louis had grown accustomed to the quiet, and he started when the shop’s doorbell announced someone’s arrival. Louis hastily lowered his book and looked toward the door, calling, “Welcome to Blackwell’s, is there anything I can help—.” He stopped his greeting spiel when he saw who was standing in the door.

It was Harry. Of course. Wasn’t that just fucking perfect? He looked like he had just finished a run. His long hair was pulled back in a slightly ridiculous little bun and he was wearing black athletic shorts and a faded Oxford t-shirt and trainers. 

Even though he was less put-together than Louis had seen him before, he looked good. Really good. Okay, he looked fucking angelic, face framed by the sunlight coming through the open door like a fucking halo. 

“Harry. Hi,” Louis said after a couple of seconds, cringing at the nervous breathiness that he could hear in his voice. 

“You work here?” Harry asked, taking in Louis’ clothing and name tag. Louis was suddenly extremely conscious of how much he hated his uniform. His khakis were a little too long and decidedly frumpy, and the baggy polo wasn’t doing him any favors either. 

“No, I just really like the whole shop uniform look,” he said, gesturing to his outfit, “so they let me wear this round."

Harry’s green eyes crinkled with amusement and he actually fucking giggled. Coming from any other grown man, it would have been nauseating. But from Harry it was maddeningly adorable and charming as hell.

“Well,” he said, slowly looking Louis up and down and making Louis' entire body burn under his gaze, “the shop uniform look suits you."

Louis would have loved to say that he thought of some cool or funny or at least casual response to that. 

But instead, true to form, he stammered for a moment before saying, “Right. Well—give me a shout if you need help finding anything.” 

Harry smiled at him. “Thanks, Louis,” he said and turned toward the history books. Louis picked up his book again and tried to read, willing himself not to watch Harry as he browsed. 

Louis still couldn’t help glancing up every so often. Harry had his hip propped against a bookshelf as he thumbed through a book with one hand, holding two more under his other arm. 

He had the expression on his face that he often got during class, where he furrowed his brow and bit his bottom lip in concentration. 

Louis was slightly alarmed by how attracted he found it. After a few minutes, Harry looked up abruptly and caught Louis looking at him. 

“Who’s the stalker now?” he asked, but there was no heat in his voice and he was grinning mischievously.

Louis blushed nonetheless. “M’sorry about that,” he mumbled. “I was a little out of it when I said that." 

Harry laughed. “Yeah, I could kind of tell,” he said, bringing two fingers to his lips and inhaling to mime smoking a joint. 

Louis fish-mouthed for a moment before bursting into laughter. Did posh and proper Harry Styles actually have a sense of humor? For his part, Harry grinned goofily and turned back to his book with an eye roll. 

Before long, Harry had finished perusing and brought two books to the register. As he handed his selections to Louis, he looked down and saw what Louis had been reading.

“Ah, getting a head start on next week’s assignment? I love this one.” Louis nodded. “Yeah, it’s quite good. I think I’m gonna try to use it for my end of term project,” he told Harry as he rung up his purchases. 

“I’m sure it’ll be great,” Harry said, accepting the bag of books that Louis passed him across the counter. Harry paused, opening his mouth and then closing it again, as if he was deciding whether or not he wanted to say something else. 

“I just—what Coleman said the other day. About…y’know, your essay and stuff. It’s true. It was really good. And…well, I’m glad we’re working together.” 

He shot Louis another one of those devastating smiles and turned on his heel, out of the shop and down the street, leaving Louis gaping after his retreating silhouette. 

Louis smiled in spite of himself. His heart was beating rather faster than usual, but he felt energized, like he could run for miles. 

He shook himself mentally. Get a grip, he told himself. He just said that your paper was good. That’s nothing to get all worked up about.

Except that normally, compliments about Louis’ academic performance didn’t make his stomach do somersaults.

* * *

By the time he locked up at 7 o’clock that evening and headed for home, he was getting excited for the night’s festivities.

“What do you say we hit the after-party for an hour or so, grab a few drinks there, then duck out early and head to this place I know?” Louis asked Liam an hour later, cracking open his first beer and taking a swig. Liam nodded heartily. 

They were each about two beers in when Zayn ambled into the kitchen, bleary-eyed and wearing nothing but sweatpants that hung low on his hips. 

“Not coming out tonight, Zayn?” asked Louis. “Don’t think so,” Zayn replied slowly. “Just smoked a bowl and I’m feeling like I can make some headway on this philosophy essay I have for next week.”

Louis had to suppress an eye-roll. The fact that Zayn smoked weed before doing homework and still aced every class was truly unfair.

However, Louis was secretly relieved. He hadn’t been looking forward to making excuses to Zayn when he and Liam decided to leave the party. Especially since Zayn was basically a human lie detector. 

“Ah. Good luck,” Louis said. Zayn nodded vaguely, grabbed a slice of leftover pizza from the fridge, and retreated back to his room. “Right.” Louis said, turning back to Liam, who was looking at the spot where Zayn had just disappeared. “Almost ready to go?” Liam snapped back to reality and nodded. 

Thirty minutes later, theywere walking toward Stone Roses, the usual spot for post-match celebrations. About a block away from the pub, Louis noticed Liam getting fidgety and much less chatty than he had been earlier that night.

"What’s up?” Louis asked him. “I don’t know if I can do this,” Liam blurted out. His eyes were wide and he frantically ran one hand through his short brown hair. “I was feeling okay back at the flat but now I just don’t know. Like, I don't want to embarrass myself.”

Louis stopped walking and tugged on Liam’s arm to stop him too. “Hey. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, Li. We don’t even have to go tonight. Why don’t we go to the football thing, then see how you feel after?” he said reassuringly. Liam nodded slowly. “Yeah, that sounds good. Thanks, Lou.”

 

As they approached the bar about a minute later, Louis could hear from outside the pub that the party was already in full swing. He heard raucous laughter and could almost feel the bass thudding. “M’gonna go get a drink and find Olly and Ed,” he called to Liam over the loud music once they’d entered the bar.

Liam gave him a thumbs up, then headed to a booth where several of his mates were waving him over. Louis quickly spotted Ed playing pool at the billiards table. 

Louis came up behind him, saying “Let me take a whack at that; I could win you some money. Y’know, some people call me the Billiards King.“

Ed eyed him skeptically. “Louis, you’re probably the worst pool player I’ve ever met,” he deadpanned. “Details,” Louis shrugged. Ed and Louis chatted while Ed played and Louis drank. After a few minutes, Olly joined them, face red and a shot in either hand.

“Bottoms up, Lou!” he beamed, shoving a drink into Louis’ hand. Louis grinned. “Oi, oi!” he cheered and downed his shot. 

After taking his shot and talking to the boys for a bit, Louis looked around the bar for Liam. He spotted his friend by the bar talking to a bloke Louis had never seen before. 

He was very handsome: tall and wiry, with coffee-colored skin, rich brown eyes, and short, wavy black hair. He actually looked a bit like Zayn from this distance. 

Liam was leaning into the man and laughing at something he'd just said. Even from across the room, Louis could tell they were flirting. Which was very interesting.

 

Louis spent the next hour with his attention divided between chatting with Ed and Olly and monitoring Liam’s progress with the tall, dark, and handsome stranger. As nervous as Liam had been about talking to guys, he seemed to be doing just fine. 

At one point, Olly looked over and his eyes narrowed in suspicion. ”Where is Liam going with that bloke?” he asked. Louis whipped his head in the direction where Olly was pointing. And he saw that Liam was leading the man out of the bar by the hand, both of them grinning like mad. 

For a moment, Louis’ mouth hung open, his eyes as wide as saucers. But he quickly regained his composure as he turned back to Olly. “No clue,” he replied nonchalantly.

Olly and Ed looked between Louis and Liam questioningly, waiting for an explanation. Louis raised his hands in the air.

“Hey, you’re not getting anything out of me,” he said. “That’s Liam’s choice who to tell, not mine.” They backed off at once. “You know I could care less, man,” Ed shrugged and turned the conversation back to football.

 

More than 30 minutes went by and Liam still hadn’t returned. Louis was just starting to wonder whether he was coming back at all when he felt his phone buzz in his pocket. It was a text from Liam. “Want to head out in about 10 mins?” 

Louis unlocked his phone and grinned as he typed: “Bored already? Heartbreaker” with a broken heart and skull emoji. 

Louis said goodbye to Olly and Ed, and headed to the bar to close his tab. A few minutes later, he met Liam outside and they began their walk home.

“So,” Louis smirked, turning to Liam. “How was your night?” Liam grinned bashfully, but Louis could tell he was pleased with himself. “It was pretty good,” he mumbled.

“What happened?” Louis demanded excitedly. “Well, I dunno, that bloke came up to me and and then we were dancing and then we went outside and made out a bit…okay, maybe more than a bit.” Louis whistled. “Shit, Payno. You work fast. I’m impressed!"

“You do realize that the whole making out with blokes thing wasn’t scheduled to start until the second stop on our tour?” Louis teased, which made Liam grin even wider.

“I know, it’s kind of mad, but, well, he was quite fit, wasn't he? And I don’t know, I just kind of…went for it. Anyways, what about you?” Liam asked him. “Did you have fun?”

Louis considered that question for a few seconds. On one hand, he was happy to have gone out with his mates, and he had a good time drinking and arguing with Olly and Ed about who their toughest competition was that season and just generally enjoying the celebration. 

But there had been something missing. Something that made the whole evening feel lackluster. Something that had been nagging at him since they’d arrived, earlier even. 

He realized with a jolt that he was thinking about Harry. If Louis hadn’t been about six drinks in at this point, he wouldn’t have been able to admit it to himself. 

But here he was, drunk and thinking about Harry Styles, who was equal parts infuriating and captivating with his inquisitive stare and his contagious laughter. 

So, yeah. He wanted to see Harry. “Who’s Harry?” Liam asked him. And fuck, Louis had not realized that he had said that out loud. 

“No one. He’s no one,” Louis said at once, but his face betrayed him. He was simply to drunk to tell a convincing lie. 

Liam considered him for a moment, and then his face lit up like the cat that ate the canary. “Is Harry a guy?” he asked. “Well, Harry generally is a man’s name, Liam. So it’s safe to say that he is in fact a man.”

Liam ignored Louis’ smartass comment and plowed on with his interrogation. “Who is this guy? Someone from one of your classes? Lou, do you like him?” he asked, smiling excitedly and prodding Louis in the side. 

“Jesus, Liam, get a grip. We’re not 10 years old,” Louis said, and it came out harsher than he’d meant it to.

Liam looked surprised and a little hurt. “Listen,” said Louis in a softer, placating tone. “Harry’s the TA I’m working with for the research job. I couldn’t stand him, thought he was an arrogant ass. And now…I don’t know, I guess now I’m not really sure what I think of him.”

Liam hummed thoughtfully but didn't respond right away, and Louis seized his momentary silence as an opportunity to change the subject. 

"So, what do you think of our chances against Manchester? I was talking to Olly and Ed and they seem to think we could sweep." Liam definitely knew that Louis was dodging his questions, but he let it slide, letting the discussion shift to football as they walked the rest of the way home.  

* * *

Louis woke the next morning with a headache that twinges unpleasantly every time he moved. He had slept for a good 8 hours but he still felt so sluggish. And he hadn’t even had all that much to drink last night. Figures. He was just beginning the long and arduous process of convincing himself to get out of bed so he could pee and get a glass of water when his laptop dinged with a notification. 

He pulled it from the foot of his bed and found a message from Coleman waiting in his inbox. He wanted both Louis and Harry to meet with him so that the three of them could talk about the project, discuss what Louis would be working on, and arrange all of the logistical details moving forward.

“Usually it’s just going to be you and Harry, but since it’s the three of us, let’s use my office, shall we?” he wrote. “Tomorrow, 4pm, if that works for both of you,” he had written. Harry had already responded. “Sounds good. See you both then!”

Louis hit reply all, confirmed that the time worked for him as well, and sent the message.

Louis was slightly ashamed to admit that he was still laying in bed three hours later, mid- _Sherlock_ marathon. 

But he couldn’t fully concentrate on the show. There were so many different issues buzzing around in his mind and he couldn’t stop wondering when exactly his life had gotten so messy. 

Sure, he’d always been busy with football and school and his job, but at least his personal life had been simple enough.

Now, between having to work with Harry Styles three times a week, constantly worrying about Liam, and feeling guilty about keeping secrets from Zayn, he felt like he was constantly on the verge of a nervous breakdown. 

What a great way to go into his meeting with Coleman and Harry the next day. Louis sighed and turned over in bed, ordering his brain to shut the fuck up so he could enjoy a rare bit of rest.


	5. 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> louis is catching feelings and he's not happy about it/also in denial bc he's louis. but it's cool bc things are getting ~steamy~ so prepare yourselves ;)

Louis knocked on the door to Coleman's office, trying to ignore the fact that his stomach was churning. He was anxious about the meeting, worried that he would embarrass himself in front of his professor and kind-of boss. Worried that he would embarrass himself in front of Harry Styles. 

"Come in," came a deep voice from inside the office. "Weird, that doesn't sound like Coleman," Louis thought, but he nudged the door open nonetheless. 

He had been right. That voice didn't belong to Coleman. It belonged to Harry. Harry was sitting in Coleman's chair, his feet propped up on the desk.  “Where’s Professor Coleman?" Louis asked.

"Coleman's sick; wasn’t feeling up to meeting today. Just the two of us," Harry said, staring at Louis intently.

Louis felt rooted to the spot. There was a flicker of something dark and suggestive in Harry's gaze and it was making Louis' palms go sweaty and his mind go blank.

“Were you going to say something, or did you just plan to stand there all day?" Harry asked, smirking at Louis. 

Louis narrowed his eyes. ”Yeah, I wanted to talk about Coleman’s book. But since he's not here..." 

Harry interrupted him. "That's not why you're here, Louis."

Louis shifted uncomfortably. "What are you on about?” he started to ask, but Harry cut him off again. 

"You're here because you want me."

Louis gaped at him. What the fuck was going on? Harry rose from the desk and walked toward Louis, hips swaying.

One step. Two steps. Three. He was close. So close that Louis could see the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. So close that Louis inhaled his cologne, which smelled oaky and expensive. So close that Louis could almost feel his nerve endings trying to jump out of his skin in anticipation for contact with Harry's body.

"You want my hands." Harry ghosted the tips of his long, thin fingers down Louis' arms before linking them loosely around his wrists.

"And my mouth," he whispered in Louis’ ear, and he could feel Harry’s warm breath on his neck. 

"And my cock," Harry said, grinding his hips forward into Louis’ and making Louis gasp. 

"Admit it, Louis. Admit you've wanted me since the first time you saw me."

Louis wasn't aware that he had decided to reply, but apparently he had, because he heard himself murmur, "Yeah. I want you.”

“Why didn’t you just say so, baby?” Harry asked, smiling wickedly. Then, his mouth was crashing onto Louis’, knocking all the air out of his lungs. 

He felt Harry’s hands slip around his waist, pulling their bodies flush. One hand slid down to grip the crest of Louis' bum, palming the skin there through Louis' jeans.

Louis was vaguely aware of his own hands marking a path up Harry’s back, exploring the broad muscles over Harry’s thin cotton t-shirt. 

Harry slipped his tongue into Louis’ mouth and he moaned at the slick sensation of their tongues sliding together. 

Louis sucked on Harry’s lower lip gently for a moment, then lightly bit down, eliciting a gasp.

Somehow they ended up in front of the desk, and Harry was pressing Louis against it, running his hands under Louis’ shirt up his sides. God, they were wearing entirely too much clothing; Louis felt like he might die if he didn’t get skin-to-skin contact in the next 10 seconds.

Music had started to play somewhere in the background, but it sounded far-off, hazy. That was strange. The song sounded vaguely familiar, but it was too distant to tell. Louis frowned into the kiss, trying to make out the words. He realized that the music was slowly getting louder. 

_More than just a dream…more than just a dream…_

 

The next moment, Louis jolted awake with a groan to the blaring of his alarm. He was panting heavily and sweating profusely. 

“What the fuck was that?” he gasped. 

He frantically ran a hand through his hair and palmed himself through his sweats. He was painfully hard; he needed release right fucking now.

He came in less than a minute, thinking of Harry's lips, full and red and swollen.

“Shit,” Louis whispered after he’d come down. Because this was really fucking inconvenient.

* * *

 It was a small miracle that Louis managed to have any semblance of a productive day after that. He was so jittery that he felt he might jump out of his skin. 

He had to see Harry today. Harry, who he could now vividly picture in very compromising positions (like, on top of him on his professor’s desk). 

Somehow, Louis made it through his daily jog, morning shift at the shop, and afternoon class without having even a minor nervous breakdown.

He threw all his energy into each task in front of him, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other so he didn’t have to think about the inevitable moment where he had to look Harry Styles in those startlingly green eyes.

His strategy actually worked pretty well until it was suddenly 3:45pm and Louis was forced to confront the fact that he was, in fact, going to have to face Harry Styles in the very near future.

He had dressed thoughtfully that day, choosing his favorite pair of tight, black jeans, the ones that he knew made his bum look amazing, and a soft grey jumper that Perrie assured him made his eyes pop.

He knew he looked good and he was stupidly pleased about it. His stomach did a kind of somersault as he imagined seeing Harry, feeling his gaze burn over his entire body.

Louis tousled his hair and grinned dopily into the mirror before snapping back to reality.

“You had a silly fucking dream,” he told his reflection sternly. “This is your job now. Stop being such a fucking teenager.”

 

He knocked on Coleman’s office door with an overwhelming feeling of deja vu that he tried very hard not to think about.

He opened the door to find Harry and Coleman stooped over Coleman’s desk, reviewing a large stack of papers. 

Harry was looking unfairly gorgeous in faded black jeans, worn ankle boots, and a white t-shirt with a soft-looking flannel layered on top, sleeves rolled up almost to his elbows. His unruly curls were pushed back from his forehead with what looked like a rolled up black scarf. 

It was completely fucking ridiculous, but also absurdly attractive. A wave of warmth blossomed low in Louis' belly as he tried to suppress the mental image of Harry pushing him against that desk as his mouth traced a path up Louis’ neck. 

When Louis looked Harry in the eyes, the warm, tingling sensation in his belly intensified to a bright, hot burning. Harry was studying him intently with his lips slightly parted.

Harry's tongue darted out of his mouth and across his bottom lip. He swallowed and his Adam's apple bobbed. 

Louis tracked the motion greedily and was overcome by the sudden urge to straddle Harry in his chair and lick up the column of his throat. 

This moment of madness was accompanied by the realization that his professor was standing less than ten feet away looking right at him. 

Which, right. Work. Professionalism. Very Serious Research. Louis averted his gaze from Harry and slid into the other vacant seat.

Coleman clapped his hands together. “So. I wanted to get together to tell you a little about what we’ll be working on for the next few months.”

The more he explained the project, the more excited Louis became. The research sounded fascinating, and it seemed like Louis would be doing real, substantial work.

“Like I said before, you’ll be working mostly with Harry. Helping him out with whatever he can’t do on his own. I’ll let you two work out the details on your own."

Louis nodded. “Sounds good. Really looking forward to it.” And he was looking forward to it, honestly. 

He was looking forward to it rather more than he should. Because the thought of spending several hours every week alone with Harry Styles made his heart thud faster in his chest with a mixture of wild excitement and sheer panic. 

Harry glanced at his watch and cleared his throat. "If  that’s everything I best be going,” he said, rising from his chair. 

Coleman started to say something, but Louis didn't hear because Harry chose that moment to stretch, lifting his arms high above his head and causing his shirt to ride up, exposing his stomach and, holy God, two identical fig leaves tattooed on his hips, just below the taut lines of his abdomen. 

Louis felt like he needed some water and also like he might be dead. Harry was a walking, talking wet dream and Louis was definitely losing his goddamn mind. 

“I’ll be off too,” he said quickly, gathering his things. Harry waited for him, holding the door open. 

“Thanks,” he murmured, slipping past him into the hall. They fell into step in the corridor. After a few moments, Harry turned to Louis. 

“We should start as soon as possible,” he said. “Later this week, if that works for you.” 

Louis nodded. “Yeah, that’s good. I’ll need to double check what shifts I have at the shop, but I should definitely have time this week.” 

“Maybe you can check and then shoot me a text?” Harry asked, which set off a kind of small explosion in Louis’ brain. Was Harry giving him his number? He thought about having Harry’s number in his phone, being able to text him whenever he wanted.

No, you’re going to be able to text him about work. It’s different. Get it together. “Louis?” Harry said, looking at him quizzically. 

“Yeah,” Louis said absently, then remembered that he was supposed to be answering a question. “Oh, right. Yes, of course!” he replied. “Sorry about that; just kind of zoned out for a second there.”

Harry chuckled. “No problem. Wanna give me your phone and I’ll put my number in?” Louis ignored the jittery thrill of exhilaration that those words set off in his stomach and pulled his phone out of his pocket, handing it to Harry. 

"Nice background," Harry said, his voice warm and almost fond. Louis looked down at his phone and immediately felt his cheeks warming.

Zayn had changed his lock screen to a photo of Louis at the height of his mortifying awkward phase during secondary: skin-tight red trousers with braces, square frame glasses and a clingy blue and white striped tee. 

His face was contorted into a goofy grimace, eyes crossed and tongue sticking out of his mouth. The whole thing was...less than attractive. 

"Oh, God," he laughed. "Please pretend you didn't see that." Harry laughed too. "No, it's not bad!" he said earnestly. "Very nautical."

Louis snorted and elbowed Harry. "Right well, if you're done ridiculing my fashion choices I'll take my phone back now."

Harry grinned and handed over the phone. “Not cracked anymore, hm?” he asked with a smirk.

Louis' blush returned. “Oh yeah. God, I’m really embarrassed about that, actually. I was in such a rush and just kind of lost my temper, and yeah…” he trailed off lamely.

Harry grinned crookedly. “Y'know, I never got the coffee stain out of that shirt. You’re lucky that you’re cute when you’re angry.” 

Right after the words left his mouth, Harry’s eyes widened in surprise, as if he was shocked that he’d said them. “I mean, uh, it was nothing. No big deal.  Anyways, I’d better go. I’ll—uh, see you around, Louis.” 

He turned and walked quickly in the other direction, leaving Louis standing there, wondering whether he had just dreamed the whole encounter.

 

For the duration of his walk back to the flat, Louis had trouble concentrating on anything that wasn’t Harry Styles telling him that he was cute when he was angry. 

Because that meant that Harry Styles had told him he was cute. True, Louis liked to think of himself as rugged or handsome rather than cute. 

But from Harry Styles—who looked like he had stepped directly out of GQ or one of Louis’ fantasies—Louis would take cute. 

Had he just been making fun of Louis and saying that he was cute in a childish kind of way? Or had he just been trying to be nice? Or had he meant something else entirely? 

After he spent a good 10 minutes freaking out about that, Louis remembered that he was supposed to text Harry about his availability to meet up. 

Which opened an entirely new can of worms. What should he say? How long should he wait? He didn’t want it to seem like he was desperate or something.

“Jesus, Louis, it’s your job, not a date,” he reminded himself under his breath. Even still, he waited until he’d been home for an hour, which he deemed to be a “nonchalant” amount of time to send Harry the message he had painstakingly composed.

“Hi, Harry. Louis here. Would Thursday afternoon work, maybe around 3? Let me know.”

He nodded to himself and pocketed his phone. When Harry responded less than a minute later, Louis was absurdly pleased.

“Thursday’s perfect. Is the library an okay meeting spot?”

“Sounds good, see you then,” Louis replied. A few moments later, his phone vibrated. Harry had sent a thumbs up emoji, followed by, “don’t be late.” 

Before he could stop himself, Louis had typed “sir, yes sir,” and sent the text. Hopefully Harry didn’t think he was a smart-ass or a weirdo. Although to be fair, he was definitely a smart-ass. Maybe Harry thought that was cute too.

* * *

Unfortunately, Louis had more important things to worry about than texting Harry Styles. Like 200 pages of reading, a response paper and two problem sets.

That evening, he holed himself up at the Costa where Zayn worked for a few hours of studying.

Zayn was working a late shift and, as usual, Louis nabbed a table close to the bar so that Zayn could join him when no one was ordering (Zayn was clearly a model employee).

As he put away his history book and dug in his bag for his economics textbook, Zayn sank into the chair opposite Louis, grumbling, “Fucking pumpkin spice lattes. I curse the day they came over from America.” 

“As much as I love listening to you bitch about your job, I’ve got p-sets to do,” Louis told him.

“Sounds fascinating. I’ll let you get to it,” Zayn said, pulling a tattered copy of Jean Paul Sartre’s _Being and Nothingness_ out of his faded leather messenger bag _._

Louis had to bite back a laugh. With his book and barista apron and the absurd horn-rimmed glasses he wore to read, Zayn was a walking cliche.

They sat in silence for about 10 minutes, Louis typing furiously and Zayn poring over his book, occasionally scribbling notes in the margin.

The silence was broken by a woman approaching the counter and loudly asking, “Is someone working?” Zayn cursed under his breath and shot up from his seat.

“Sorry, ma’am what can I help you with?” he asked, giving the woman a look that Louis called “The Smolder.” 

“The Smolder” involved Zayn narrowing his amber eyes, scrunching his eyebrows, and pouting his full lips. 

It was absolutely ridiculous, but it worked every single time. As soon as the woman saw Zayn, her stern expression melted into a warm smile.

“Oh, no problem! I…hope I wasn’t interrupting anything,” she said, sounding slightly flustered. 

Louis rolled his eyes. Every. Single. Time.

“Not at all. What can I get started for you, love?” he asked. At that, the woman actually blushed. Louis resisted the urge to make retching noises. 

“Could you get me a large black tea while you’re up? Two sugars? And some milk?” Louis asked Zayn after he'd made the woman’s coffee.

Zayn glowered at him and Louis smirked back, loving the fact that Zayn was on-duty and was therefore required to fetch him caffeinated beverages without being able to complain about it. 

 

“How was the football party last weekend?” Zayn asked as he made Louis’ drink. Louis looked up from his book. Why in the world was Zayn asking about the football party?

“It was okay,” he replied vaguely. “Mostly just hung out with Olly and Ed.” 

Zayn nodded slowly, walking back to the table and placing Louis’ tea in front of him. “Pretty normal then?” 

Louis thought back to the party. Everything had been normal, with the glaring exception of Liam hooking up with a beautiful man who just happened to look a lot like Zayn. 

“Normal enough,” Louis said, avoiding Zayn’s eyes. “Why?” 

Zayn didn’t say anything for a moment. “No reason, really. Was just talking to a mate who was at the pub that night. Said he saw you.” Zayn paused. “And Liam.” 

Shit. Louis knew Zayn well enough to know just by the tone of his voice that he knew.

He looked up from his book, feigning an expression of vague surprise. “Oh, really? Which mate?” 

“Cut the shit, Lou. Why didn’t you tell me that Liam’s into guys?” 

Louis ran his hands through his hair and rubbed his face before replying. "What do you want me to say, Zee? He asked me not to say anything. I wasn’t going to break my word."

Zayn scrutinized him critically for a moment, his expression shifting from frustration to confusion. 

“It’s just—I keep thinking about it, and like, I just can’t figure out why he didn’t tell me if he told you. Why he didn’t want me to know.”

Louis bit his lip in frustration. He  didn’t have a single fucking thing to say to that. How was he supposed to respond? “Don’t worry, mate! The only reason that he didn’t tell you is because he’s got a massive fucking crush on you!” 

He sighed. “I don’t know, man. It’s just like…a hard thing to tell people. I’m sure he’ll tell you in his own time.”

Zayn didn’t look particularly convinced. “I just want to know if I’ve done anything wrong, like something to make him feel like I wouldn’t be okay with it. Has he said anything to you?” 

Louis shook his head rapidly. “No, course not,” he said, the words tumbling out of his mouth a little too fast. 

He paused to compose himself before continuing. “Zayn, you’re a great friend. You—it’s nothing you’ve done wrong.” To Louis’ relief, Zayn looked slightly more reassured.

“So is he like…dating this guy?” Zayn asked cautiously after a couple minutes of brooding silence. “God, no!” Louis exclaimed before he could stop himself.

“I mean, I think it was just kind of a casual thing,” he said.

“Cool. I mean, right,” Zayn muttered, causing Louis to quirk an eyebrow.

Of course, it made sense that Zayn was surprised. Liam was one of his best mates, and this had come out of nowhere. But he was taking the whole thing a little strangely.

“Hey, Lou. Maybe don’t mention to Liam that we talked?” Zayn said. If Louis hadn’t known Zayn for virtually his whole life, he might not have noticed the strain behind Zayn’s would-be casual tone or the way that Zayn was picking at his nails and avoiding Louis’ gaze.

But Louis knew his friend well enough to know that he was being weird. Louis reasoned that Zayn might be tired and stressed about school.

Even robot-designing, philosophizing, engineering prodigies got overworked sometimes, right?

* * *

The rest of that week felt like it was leading up to Thursday afternoon. Thursday afternoon was his first day on the job and ev ery time Louis thought about it, a shiver of both anticipation and anxiety ran up his spine.

As much as he tried to tell himself that this had absolutely nothing to do with getting to spend three hours alone with Harry, Louis knew deep down that this was bullshit. 

Every time he saw Harry, it left him confused and a little breathless and kind of frustrated but mostly just wanting more. 

By the time that he had to leave for work on Thursday, Louis had gotten himself just a little worked up. He was still thinking about that damn dream from the other night, and the more he told himself to push it out of his mind, the more stubbornly it pushed its way back in. 

Harry had texted him a room number the day before, saying that he had “booked the room,” which was a little strange considering you couldn’t book rooms in the library. 

The room in question was at the end of the hall, and when Louis reached, it he saw that the door was slightly ajar.

He had reached out his hand to push it the rest of the way open, but stopped when he heard a voice. Harry’s voice . 

Part of him felt guilty for eavesdropping, but he told himself half-heartedly that it would be even ruder to interrupt and leaned forward to listen.

“Yeah, that sounds good,” Harry was saying. He paused for a moment. “I dunno, maybe around 6?” he said. “I don’t care, whatever you want.” Another pause. He must be on the phone. Harry laughed and the sound definitely didn’t make Louis’ breath hitch in his throat. Nope, not even a little. “We had Nando’s three days ago, Ni.” 

Louis hated himself in that moment, because he had just realized that Harry was making dinner plans, probably with that blonde bloke that he was most likely dating and it made Louis’ heart feel like it was going to fall out his ass. Which was absurd. 

“Okay, Niall, I gotta go, Louis should be here in a minute. Shut up I don't fancy anyone. Okay, bye.” 

And then Louis hated himself even more because the fact that Harry had just mentioned him in the same breath that he talked about fancying someone gave Louis this light, floating, fucking hopeful feeling. 

And that was even more ridiculous. Pathetic, even.

He waited for a few seconds, taking a deep breath and just generally getting his shit together before knocking lightly on the door. “Hullo!” he said in what he hoped was a casual, cheery tone of voice. 

Harry was sitting at the small table in the middle of the room, leaning back in his chair with one leg crossed over the other, scrolling through his phone absently. He looked up and fixed Louis with a smile that was frankly devastating.

It was toothy and open and honest and happy, like Harry was just so fucking pleased to see him. For a moment, all Louis could do was enjoy it, relish the feeling of being the thing that made Harry smile like that. 

And oh, yeah, he should probably say something instead of just standing there and staring at Harry staring at him. 

They stood in silence for a long  moment in which Louis wondered whether a person could spontaneously combust because they were so attracted to another person.

At last, he pulled himself together enough to clear his throat and say, “So, shall we get cracking?” 

Oh, god. Get cracking? Why, Louis, why? Harry blinked once and then nodded vigorously. “Yeah, yeah of course!” He turned away, toward the table and started rustling through some papers. 

“Right. So,” Harry started, opening the notebook. “These are all my notes. I kind of have my own system to keep everything organized. You’ll want to get your own notebook so that you can do the same.” 

Louis grinned. “One step ahead of you,” he said, reaching into his bag and pulling out a composition book identical to Harry’s. Harry looked pleased and a little taken aback. 

“Great. You’re so prepared.” Louis narrowed his eyes. “You sound surprised,” he said, his tone somewhere between joking and accusatory. 

Harry smiled at him and it was different from before, sly and almost wolfish. “Well, I never really know what to expect from you."

The way he said it and the way he was looking at Louis—all intense and brooding—made Louis squirm in his seat and look down at his notebook. “Well, I am a man of many mysteries,” he said jokingly, because he couldn’t think of anything else to say. 

Harry just laughed and quietly said, “So I’ve noticed.” Which definitely didn’t make Louis’ heart pound harder in his chest.

 

Over the next couple hours, Harry did most of the talking. He gave Louis a summary of his research so far, the kinds of sources he had found to be helpful and the ones that weren’t. 

Louis felt like he was on surer footing.  He could do this, was good at this. He might not be able to understand Harry Styles or why Harry had such a maddening effect on him, but he could understand this stuff.

 

As they started packing up their things, Harry said, “By the way, sorry that it’s kind of cramped in here. Coleman’s going to work on finding us a room somewhere in the history department, so this shouldn’t be a permanent thing.” 

At that, Louis remembered his original confusion about their meeting place. “Yeah, I wondered about that, actually. Didn’t know you could reserve rooms in the library.”

Harry grinned sheepishly and scrubbed a hand through his curls. 

“Yeah, you actually can’t, technically.” Louis raised his eyebrows. “Technically?” he asked.

“Well, I emailed them to ask and they said they didn’t actually do that, but then I came in to tell them what we’re working on and the woman at the desk was terribly nice and she said that she could make an exception, just this once.” 

“So you basically came in here and seduced some poor, sweet librarian to break the rules?” Louis deadpanned and Harry looked horrified. 

“No! I mean—.“ Louis grinned. “Relax, Harold it was a joke.” 

Right after he said it, Louis stiffened, realized that he had just called Harry “Harold” and, oh God, he was definitely going to think that Louis was a weirdo. 

But Harry just tipped his head back and laughed. “I'm shocked and appalled by that accusation, Louis Tomlinson!” he said, dimpling at Louis in a way that made his mind go pleasantly hazy.

Jesus, he'd never met a person whose pure existence was so bloody distracting. Louis reflected vaguely that Harry reminded him of a Disney prince come to life with his long ringlets and sharp jawline and lush lips and his green eyes actually sparkled for God's sake.

Harry looked down at his phone and swore under his breath. “Oh, wow, it’s almost 6! I’m gonna be late.”

Right. Late for dinner with his cute Irish boyfriend. What a shame.

“Oh, yeah I’ve got to get to practice. I’ll see you next week then,” Louis said, turning to leave.

He had walked a few steps when—“Louis?” God, why did he like it so much when Harry said his name?

“Yeah?” he turned to look back at Harry.

He held Louis' gaze for a lingering moment and it was almost too intense, to the point where Louis felt himself squirming under the heat of it.

“Bye,” Harry said simply before striding out of the room, leaving Louis standing there with his mouth agape and his heart pounding.

* * *

 Saturday night found Louis sprawled on his stomach on the floor of his room, a takeout container on one side of him and a thick book lying forgotten on the other, his indie mix shuffling Passion Pit and Tame Impala in the background. 

He and Perrie had met up to “study” together earlier that evening, which had quickly devolved into doing what they did best: gossiping, drinking wine, and eating loads of food. 

Louis had meant to skim through a couple of the books that Harry had mentioned during their meeting, but , Perrie had informed him that it was rude to read a book whilst one has someone over for dinner, so he had no choice but to abandon his book and bust out a bottle of wine.

When they finished off the first bottle, Louis had weakly protested that they still needed to get some work done, but Perrie silenced him with a look that clearly said, “Let’s be real; no one’s getting any more work done tonight.” 

So they were well into their second bottle of cheap wine and Perrie was regaling Louis with her latest plot to destroy a man who was in love with her. 

After she finished her story, she gasped and said, “I totally forgot to ask about your new job! How are you liking it?” 

Louis beamed in spite of himself and told her about his first couple of days. 

“So, what’s the deal with you and Harry?” Perrie asked Louis in between bites of curry. Louis’ stomach twisted in on itself traitorously, just like it did every time he saw Harry or thought about Harry or heard someone talk about Harry. 

He nearly spit out his chicken tikka masala. “The deal? What deal? There’s no deal.” 

“Well, I _meant_ like how much you’ll be working together. But after that whole display, I’m going to have to follow up on that.” 

“What do you want me to say, Pez? We both know he’s fit. So what if I’m kind of attracted to the guy?”

It was the truth, Louis told himself. Of course he found Harry attractive. Very attractive. That certainly didn't mean that Louis liked him or anything. 

Their relationship was strictly professional. As far as Louis was concerned, Harry was just a coworker who just happened to have great hair and impossibly green eyes and an ass that made him want to dry hump. 

It’s not like there was anything that Louis could do about it, was there? Harry was his teaching assistant and also his kind-of supervisor. 

Both of those things put him in a position of authority over Louis. He was practically Louis' teacher. Everyone knew that students weren’t allowed to go around fucking their teachers. 

Louis was not about to risk his academic standing and position on the football team over a hot piece of ass. When a small, exasperated voice in his head said, “Come on, Louis. We both know he’s more than that,” Louis reflexively stifled it and focused back on Perrie, who was studying him intently.

“You’re so fucked,” she said shortly. He contemplated that for a moment, and briefly considered asking Perrie what in the hell she was talking about.

But there was something about her directness that he just couldn’t bring himself to bullshit his way around. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I think you might be right,” he said, a little shocked at his own honesty.

Because, he was fucked, really. He had promised himself that he wasn’t going to do this again, wasn’t going to go all soft and moon-eyed over a pretty boy whose smile fucked him up. 

But here he was, half-drunk on shitty wine and completely fucking smitten with Harry fucking Styles. Not that he would admit that in the light of day. 

Besides, it was just a little crush. Nothing to be fussed about. He would get over it soon enough. At least, that’s what he told himself.

 

Except that he didn’t get over it. Obviously. Because he saw Harry three times a week, and Harry was Harry. He was equal parts earnestly kind and wryly derisive. 

He and Louis quickly fell into a pattern at work. Louis would come in to find Harry already working.

He would look up from his work and greet Louis with a smile that momentarily made Louis feel a little drunk or high or both. Then they would talk for a few minutes before getting to work.

Louis learned that Harry was from London originally (big surprise) and that he had originally thought he was going to do banking (which he called “the family business”). Harry told him that his first time in York had been when he moved there at the end of August, and that he hadn’t really had the chance to see the classic tourist sights yet. 

Louis stored these pieces of information in his head, squirreling them away and saving them for later without even realizing that he was doing so. 

Because, even if Louis couldn’t really admit it to himself, Harry was confusing and fascinating and Louis was hungry to know more about him. 

Louis quickly discovered that he and Harry worked well together. They balanced each other out in a way that he definitely could not have anticipated. 

Louis was excitable and almost frenetic in his research, jumping from source to source and quickly making connections between them that other people didn’t pick up on. Harry was slower, more deliberate, more cautious, preferring to have all of the information in front of him before making any type of conclusion.

But somehow, it worked.

They spent hours picking out new sources, arguing over which ones were the most important, fiercely debating about controversial topics in the field.

When Louis had first met Harry, he felt like Harry was always judging him, finding him stupid and unworthy. Now it was the complete opposite.

It was implicit in all of their discussions that, even if they disagreed (which they usually did), both of their opinions had merit. Harry always took Louis’ perspective into account, even though he had the final say. 

In other words, work was good. It was a routine and it was easy and it was comfortable. 

But deep down, Louis knew that it was also really fucking dangerous.

Because underneath the routine they had developed, there was something else. Something that Louis couldn’t quite name. Something that curled its way into Louis’ stomach and his bones and his brain, a kind of static heat that had nowhere to go. 

And it was building, slowly at first but then it just kind of always sat there between them, this thing that neither of them acknowledged, but that felt so tangible to Louis. 

He felt it every time that Harry’s shoulder brushed his as they both bent to examine a book. Felt it when he realized that their conversations weren’t just small talk. 

That Harry knew about his friends and about footy and about his classes; that Harry remembered things that Louis had told him days before. 

He felt it when he allowed himself to admit that he was hollowing out this little space in his life where those hours with Harry went, and that he liked that time, wanted it, needed it. 

And that feeling was jolting, electrifying, thrilling, fucking scary as hell. Because Louis didn’t do feelings, and this was beginning to feel suspiciously like feelings. And yeah, Louis was so completely fucked.


	6. 6

It was a quarter past six on a Thursday evening and true to form, Louis was running late. Football practice was supposed to have ended at 5:30, which should have given him plenty of time to shower and change before meeting Harry in the history building. 

But Coach had kept them more than half an hour late and Louis knew better than to ask if he could leave before they were dismissed.

The last bloke to do that had been benched for the following two games and Louis wasn’t about to let that happen to him. Coach hadn’t let them go until five minutes after he was supposed to be at work.

He'd had no choice but to come straight from practice still covered in sweat and dressed in gym shorts, an old, oversized practice jersey, and cleats.

“I’m so sorry I’m late. Coach kept us late and I didn’t even have time to text,” he said hurriedly as he walked in and dumped his bag in an empty seat.

“S’alright, Lou,” Harry said, not looking up from the blackboard, where he was drawing some kind of chart. “I thought that we could—.”

He finally looked up and faltered when he saw Louis. His almond-shaped eyes widened and his mouth fell open a little bit. 

He looked Louis up and down and the intensity of his gaze almost made Louis' skin tingle. His mind flashed to the dream he'd had a few weeks back and he suddenly felt a bit dizzy.

“I, uh. I didn’t have time to change," he explained breathlessly, scrubbing a hand through his still-sweaty hair.

“I can see that," Harry said quietly, taking a step toward Louis. The silence was almost unbearably heavy, loaded with a tangible heat that pooled low in Louis' belly and prickled in his palms. He almost felt like there was a magnet pulling him towards Harry. He wanted to be closer, needed to be closer.

Then, just as Louis lifted his foot to take a step forward, the door banged open and a familiar voice pulled him out of his reverie.

"Hullo, boys! Harry told me you were meeting today and I wanted to see how things are progressing!"

Louis resisted the urge to beat his head against the blackboard as he turned to greet his professor. 

Harry, who had jolted like he'd been delivered an electric shock when Coleman entered the room, cleared his threat and said, "We, uh. We were going to focus on the Patterson book tonight."

"Ah yes, _Slavery and Social Death._  Excellent book. What are your thoughts on Patterson's argument about slavery in Ancient Rome?"

Before long, the three of them were deep in discussion and the only reminder of what had happened earlier was an uneasy, jittery feeling in the pit of Louis' stomach.

 

That day’s meeting ended as their meetings usually did, with both of them packing up and walking out together, talking as they went. 

Today, Louis was updating Harry on the latest developments of theLiam and Zayn saga. The fact that he had told Harry about the whole thing in the first place probably made him the shittiest friend ever. 

It had slipped out one day when he was really preoccupied with the whole thing after listening to one of Liam’s more dramatic rants on the subject. 

Harry had asked “What’s wrong, Lou?” (he'd started using the nickname a couple weeks ago and it still made butterflies swirl in Louis’ stomach every time he said it). 

At first, Louis had shrugged the whole thing off, but Harry had given him a look that silenced the bullshit excuse that he’d been making. B efore he knew it, he'd told Harry the whole story. 

He hadn’t told Harry any names, but he had divulged that one of his mates fancied his other mate. Louis told himself that it was probably okay because Harry didn’t know Liam or Zayn and it wasn't like he knew any of Louis’ other friends that he could tell. 

It was oddly comforting to talk about the whole thing with someone who had an outside perspective. Harry was a great listener and he had become invested in the whole drama, periodically asking Louis for updates. Louis could tell that Harry was rooting for them to figure out their shit and fall in love and he'd never admit that he found it hopelessly endearing.

“Have the star-crossed lovers made any progress yet, then?” Harry asked as they exited the library together, Louis matching Harry’s long, leisurely strides with his own shorter, faster ones. 

“Well, not exactly. I don’t think that my one mate has caught on yet, but he has been acting different every since he found out that my other mate likes guys. Like, more…cautious, I guess?” 

Harry pondered that for a moment. “You don’t think that he fancies him, do you?” he asked excitedly. 

Louis stopped walking. Oddly enough, he hadn’t considered that possibility. “I dunno,” he said slowly, thinking back on his conversation with Zayn and his observations of the way Zayn had been acting around Liam. 

“I don’t think so. I think it's more that he’s like, hurt that Li—sorry, that my other friend didn’t tell him. He’s not really the type who gets a crush and fixates on it. If he wants someone, he just goes for it.”

“Well, what about you?” Harry said quietly. Louis stared at him, nonplussed. “What about me?” 

“Do you fancy anyone at the moment?”

Harry’s gaze was level and his tone was perfectly casual. Like he didn’t really care what the answer was either way. Meanwhile, Louis thought that he could actually feel his brain short-circuiting.

Harry Styles, star of his fucking wet dreams, was asking Louis if he fancied anyone. 

Every bone in his body was screaming at him to lie, lie, lie. He opened his mouth to say, “Nope, not at the moment,” but somehow, that wasn’t what came out.

“Yeah, kind of. But it’s not really possible, so I dunno if that counts.”

Harry studied him for a moment. “Why isn’t it possible?” he asked after a long moment.

Fuck. What was he supposed to say to that? “Because it’s you and you’re kind of my teacher and also seeing someone else, surprise!”

“I—it’s complicated,” Louis said evasively, very pointedly ignoring Harry’s gaze. He wasabsolutely positive that if he looked at Harry right now, he would give himself away and Harry would know and then Louis would be forced to move out of the country. 

Harry must have sensed his unease because a moment later, he quickly said, “I shouldn’t have asked. Sorry if I was prying or anything.”

Louis made the mistake of looking at Harry. He had this look on his face that was earnest and apologetic and fucking maddening. In that moment, Louis was about half a second from shouting, “It’s you, you fucking idiot! How can you not know that it’s you?”

Instead, Louis did what he did best and took shelter behind a smart-ass remark. “Nothing to be sorry about, Harold. It’s only natural to wonder what lucky man would attract my attention. What with my stunning good looks and sparkling personality.” 

Harry snorted. “Not to mention your incredible sense of modesty.”

“Right! How could I forget? Guess I’m just that humble.” 

When Louis reached the turn for his flat and waved goodbye to Harry, his ears and brain and whole fucking body were still ringing with Harry’s words: “Do you fancy anyone at the moment?” 

This settled it. Harry Styles was going to be the death of him.

* * *

The end of October was always one of the busiest parts of term and this year was no exception. Football was picking up as the post-season approached. They had just three more matches in the regular season, and then it was the championships. 

Then there were the midterm exams and essays that professors seemed to get together and coordinate to all be due in the same hellacious week. 

This term, Louis had an economics test worth 40% of the final grade, a proposal for the final project in Coleman’s class, and essays in his other two history classes. 

Louis didn't usually complain about schoolwork, but he'd started hating life a little bit after the third night in a row getting kicked out of the library at its 2am closing time.

He knew it was bad when he started to see work as his time to unwind. He had scaled back at the bookshop over the past few weeks, taking two shifts a week rather than three as the research assistant gig began to take up more time. 

But Louis relished those few quiet hours that he got to spend mindlessly chatting with Liam, shelving books, and working the register.

Granted, Liam spent about half of any given shift talking about Zayn. Speculating about whether Zayn was seeing someone; analyzing his interactions with Zayn; panicking about whether Zayn had caught on yet. 

As reticent as Liam had originally been to talk about the whole thing, he hardly seemed to be capable of carrying a conversation that wasn’t Zayn-related these days. 

While Louis wanted to be as supportive as he possibly could be, he could only listen to so many monologues about how Zayn was the most gorgeous, amazing person to ever walk the planet without wanting to pull his hair out.

At least Liam's woes usually distracted Louis from thinking about Harry for a few hours at a time.

Speaking of which, in the midst of everything else, Louis usually had Harry either on his mind or at the back of his mind waiting to pop back into the forefront at any moment.

What was worse, he couldn’t seem to stop himself from bringing Harry up in conversation.

He constantly found himself talking about what he and Harry were working on; he recounted Harry's idiotic jokes to anyone who would listen; he bemoaned Harry’s lack of interest in football.

Louis knew that his friends were starting to catch on. Whenever he brought up Harry’s name, Zayn and Liam exchanged knowing glances and Perrie bit back a little smile.

His lack of tact or self-control was fairly mortifying, and he knew that he needed to shut up before he made it too painfully obvious. But he couldn’t help it. It was like he wasn’t even in control of what was coming out of his mouth.

* * *

One Sunday morning, just as Louis was starting to convince himself that the worst of the midterm stress was over, he got an email from Harry that increased his workload considerably.

There was a 75-page PDF that Harry explained was a copy of an abolitionist’s journal from the 19th century. 

“Coleman found this in the archives and he thinks it will be an incredible resource. We’re going to have to transcribe it and get the typed version to him by this coming Thursday. Thought we could divide and conquer. I know it’s a lot, but can you have this section done for Wednesday? This is important stuff; wouldn't trust it to just anyone.”

Louis  spent all day Sunday and several hours on both Monday and Tuesday making his way through the journal at an agonizingly slow pace.

It really was mind-numbingly tedious. The abolitionist's handwriting was absolutely horrendous and he occasionally had to enlist Liam’s help to decipher a particularly inscrutable word.

 

He woke up on Wednesday morning to a text from Harry. “Did you survive journal hell? Hope so, would be a shame if you died and had to miss our meeting today.” 

Louis grinned to himself as he typed a reply. “Barely. Rough few days to say the least.” The three dots indicating that Harry was typing popped up almost immediately and Louis’ grin broadened. His response came a moment later and if Louis squealed like a little girl, no one ever had to know about it.

“Sorry it's been a stressful week. Maybe we could get drinks after work tonight to celebrate being done?” 

 

Louis spent the entire morning walking around campus grinning like an idiot. He and Harry were going to get drinks after work. Harry had asked him to get drinks.

Sure, Harry probably had a boyfriend and even if he didn't, he was Louis' teaching assistant and coworker and firmly off-limits.

That didn't mean that Louis couldn't look forward to hanging out with him outside of work. After all, they were friends. Or like, friendly coworkers. Or something like that.

"Mate, what in the fuck are you so happy about?" Zayn groused as Louis settled into their usual corner of the library to proofread an essay for his Human Rights in Britain seminar.

"Nothing," Louis lied. "You were whistling on the way here. Like, actually whistling," Zayn said skeptically.

His eyebrows shot up. "Did you finally get laid?" Louis laughed. "One, I resent the 'finally' thing; it hasn't been that long. Two, no."

"Try to be less happy then. It's right annoying," Zayn muttered as they both set to work.

Normally, when everyone else was stressed about exams, Zayn seemed completely immune to the campus-wide anxiety. But now, Louis could see that his brows were knitted together and his lips were tightly pursed and he was hunched over his work with his shoulders tensed. He was mumbling curses under his breath as he tried to work through an equation.

When Zayn cursed at his paper for the fourth time and crossed out his work so vigorously that the lead in his pencil snapped, Louis set down his book and turned to his friend. “Everything okay, Zee?” he asked quietly.

Zayn glared up at Louis. “Fine, don’t worry about it,” he replied snappishly. And okay. Something was definitely wrong. Zayn never acted like this, taking his own shit out on Louis. 

Louis raised his eyebrows. “Right, so I’m definitely going to worry about it because obviously something’s wrong.” 

Zayn scowled and opened his mouth to reply, but after a moment, he shut it again and sighed deeply, rubbing his face with both hands. “Jesus, sorry, Lou. I—I’m stressed about this fucking calc exam and m’just fucking exhausted.” 

Louis examined him for a moment. “Are you sure that’s all it is? ” Zayn looked even more drained than Louis felt. There were dark circles under his eyes and his skin looked sallow and unhealthy. 

More than that, now that Louis was looking at Zayn closely, he looked so dejected, and Louis wondered how he had missed it before.

Zayn sighed again. “Okay, yeah, there’s something else, but it’s fucking stupid and I—I don’t wanna talk about it. I’m just too fucking busy to do this right now. I have to get this  study guide done before 4 and I'm not even close." 

Louis reached for Zayn’s arm. “It’s okay, Zee. I’m here when you wanna talk, okay?” 

“Thanks, Lou. Sorry I was a dick. Things’ll be better after I take this fucking test.” 

Louis nodded. “You know what a tit I am when I’m get wound up. Maybe we can go out this weekend and celebrate being done with midterms? Let off a little steam?” he said, grinning cautiously at Zayn. “I bet Duplex would let you DJ again if you asked. They’re like, fucking obsessed with you."

Because yes, Zayn DJ’ed in his spare time and yes, it was absurd but also fucking awesome. One night last year, they had been at York's gay bar, Duplex and the normal DJ had been sick so Zayn had offered to fill in.

It had been a blast and one of the biggest shit-shows that Louis had ever been a part of (the portions of the night that he could remember, anyway).

Zayn had a knack for playing music that hyped everyone up and he was kind of a legend at the bar. He had a standing invitation to DJ and they still got free drinks every time they went in. 

At that, Zayn actually shot him a weak smile. “Yeah, that sounds really good, actually. Let’s do it,” he replied. "Excellent! Tommo and DJ Malik back at it!" Louis beamed.

 

Louis Tomlinson might be many things, but punctual definitely wasn’t one of them. By the time he made the trek across campus to Vanbrugh for his meeting with Harry, it was 4:02 and he was in a panicked rush. He burst into the room at five past four to find Harry with his head buried in a book as usual.

Louis could see right away that he looked rather less put-together than usual: he had a coffee stain on his Oxford sweatshirt (the fact that he was wearing a sweatshirt at all was a change from his usual posh, expensive-looking wardrobe); there were dark circles under his eyes; and his long, curly hair, normally shiny and healthy, was looking a bit greasy.

“Hey Lou. Your tea’s on the table,” Harry said, glancing up from his notebook to gesture to a large paper cup. “Two sugars and a splash of milk, right?” 

Louis stared at him. “You—you got me tea?” he asked. Harry looked almost embarrassed then, looking down coyly and running a hand through his hair. “Well, you said you were having a bad day. Figured you might need a pick-me-up,” he said with a small smile.  “I hope I didn’t get the wrong kind.” 

Harry had fucking brought Louis tea. He had brought Louis tea exactly the way he liked it because he’d remembered how Louis took his tea. And he had done all of this just because Louis had said he was having a bad day in a text he’d sent hours ago. Which meant that Harry had been thinking about him. 

“No! You’re perfect! I mean, it’s perfect. The tea; that’s—that’s so nice, Harry. Thank you,” he stammered, feeling his cheeks warming and hating himself for it. Why the fuck did Harry Styles have this effect on him?

“It’s no big deal,” Harry replied, grinning broadly at him. “It’s really my mate Niall you should thank. Someone gave him a Starbuck’s gift card but he hates coffee so he gave it to me.”

Louis tried to conjure up a convincing smile. “Oh, nice,” he said, privately thinking that this was anything but nice.

Because honestly, fuck Niall. Louis was pretty sure that “mate” was a codeword for “boyfriend.”

Harry talked about Niall all the time, whether it was some hilarious story Niall had told him or Niall being able to eat an entire pizza in one sitting or an awesome song Niall had showed him. He had even mentioned planning a trip with Niall over the upcoming winter hols. 

One time, Harry had told Louis how Niall was a huge football fan. "I bet you two would get on really well!” and it had taken everything in Louis’ power not to retort “I seriously doubt that."

Louis was well-aware that it would be completely unreasonable to hate some bloke he didn’t even know. He also knew that he had no right to be jealous of Niall; sure, he was attracted to Harry, but it’s not like he wanted to date him. Neither of those facts stopped Louis from harboring an irrational loathing of Niall.

“So did you finish?” Harry asked Louis after he had shrugged out of his jacket, perched on a chair, and taken a long sip of tea. “Of course I did! What, did you think I was going to show up with it half finished! The nerve of some people!” 

He clutched his chest in mock insult and Harry chuckled. “Shut up.” He rolled his eyes, but then his expression became more serious. 

“I know it was a lot. Thanks for stepping up to the plate.”  Louis started to shrug it off, but Harry continued. “I’m really happy to have you here helping me, Lou. I couldn’t have gotten half as far with this stuff without you.” 

Louis’ heart felt like it might beat right out of his chest. He knew it was stupid, he really did. Because this was just Harry being a nice, kind, thoughtful person. Harry being Harry. 

It wasn’t fair or right for Louis to read anything else into his words. But he couldn’t help the thrill of something like hope that filled his chest and spread warmly through his entire body. Because the way that Harry was looking at him, all open and honest, was something he could get addicted to. 

“I—thanks, Harry,” Louis managed, trying his hardest to come up with a coherent response to Harry’s little speech. “I’m happy to be here. I—I really enjoy this. Working with you,” he said, looking down at the floor as he muttered the last sentence. 

“Right!” Harry beamed at him. “Let’s get down to business,” he said brightly. “To defeat the Huns,” Louis sang, adding a karate chop for good measure. 

“You’re such a child," Harry snorted.

“Well, this child has spent the last three sodding days typing out the contents of that sodding journal,” Louis huffed.

“Yeah, pretty awful, huh?” Harry asked and Louis nodded vigorously. “I almost lost it when I was reading about the fifth charity luncheon. Jesus.”

Harry laughed and said, “Did you email it to me? Haven’t checked  in a bit.”

Louis nodded again. “Great. Why don’t you take my computer and pull it up, then you can copy and paste it into my document. It’s already open. We can go over it all after that.”

 

Harry pushed his computer across the table and turned back to the book he'd been reading. Louis navigated to Firefox and logged into his email. 

A minute later, he had retrieved and downloaded the file and copied the entire thing at the end of Harry’s equally-lengthy document. 

He was just about to save the changes to the document when a pop-up flashed on Harry’s screen, something about anti-virus protection software. 

Reflexively, Louis clicked the Enter key to dismiss the notification. To his horror, the screen went black and the Apple shut-down tone sounded. 

Harry looked up from his notebook.  “What was that?” he asked. Louis didn’t say anything, he just kept staring at the blank screen. 

After a moment, Harry reached for his laptop and set it down in front of him, pressing keys rapidly. “Lou, my computer shut down; what did you do?” he asked, looking up at Louis in dismay. 

“I—I dunno. There was a popup and I just clicked to get rid of it and—“

Harry groaned. “Shit! My computer gets this virus and it wipes everything I don’t have backed up.” They waited in tense silence as Harry rebooted his computer. 

After a very awkward minute or so, the cheery ting of the computer turning on sounded and Harry bent over it, typing furiously.

“Fuck!” he exclaimed after a few moments. Louis peered over his shoulder and saw that his Documents folder was completely empty. 

“It’s—it’s gone,” Harry said dully. And oh, God, this was bad. This was really bad. 

“Surely there’s some way we can—“ Louis started, but before he could finish, Harry cut across him. “No, Louis,” he said in that same, terrible monotone. 

“We have half of it on your computer, but my half is completely gone,” he muttered, talking more to himself than to Louis. “And I haven’t backed up since Sunday so my updated reading notes will be gone as well.” 

Louis placed a tentative hand on Harry’s shoulder and felt him stiffen in response. “I’m really sorry,” Louis said softly. 

Harry looked like he might throw his computer across the room. His neck was turning an angry, splotchy red and a muscle in his jaw twitched. It was honestly a little scary.

"Forget about it. Just let me handle it," he said brusquely. "Harry, I'm really sorry. Let me help fix this," Louis offered. 

"No, Louis," Harry snapped. "I'm the one who's actually accountable to the professor. You've done enough." 

He bent over his computer and resumed his furious typing. Louis felt rooted to the spot in shock. 

It sounded an awful lot like Harry was blaming him for the virus on his computer. Which was completely off-base. What could he have possibly done? He wasn’t a fucking computer expert. 

A moment later, Harry looked up and saw Louis still sitting there. "You can go now," he said. 

Louis reeled back as if Harry had  slapped him. Louis recognized Harry's tone; flat, authoritative. It wasn't a request. It was an order.

Louis was being dismissed like some petulant child who had misbehaved. Harry was pulling rank on him, ordering him around.

Which stung because he had actually been stupid enough to think that Harry respected him, saw him as an equal.

"Right," Louis said, pushing his chair back from the table and rising. "Yes, sir," he said, spitting out the last word and striding toward the door, shutting it just a little too hard behind him (okay, maybe he slammed it, whatever).

 

He knew that he was being petty and inappropriate but he was too fucking pissed to care. His pride was wounded, and Louis Tomlinson was proud to a fault. He hated being wrong and he hated feeling stupid, and right now he felt both in equal measure.

He had let Harry fool him into thinking that they had this close relationship with his stupid smile and his stupid friendly texts and his stupid pretending to care about Louis' life. 

And the worst part was that Louis had fallen for it hook, line, and sinker. God, he was an idiot. 

He was also very fucking aware that he was blowing this way out of proportion, which made it that much worse. 

Louis stormed out of the building and down the street, unaware of where he was going. All he knew is that he wanted to put as much distance between himself and Harry Styles as possible. 

After a couple minutes, Louis remembered that he was still holding the tea that Harry had brought him. The realization was like a gut punch, and he chucked the cup in the nearest bin.

It was a painful reminder that he had been gushing over Harry less than an hour ago, convinced that he was so fucking perfect.

Turns out his first judgement of Harry had been right after all. He was a spoiled little rich boy who threw a tantrum every time something went wrong (which wasn’t often, because things nearly always went his way.)

* * *

He spent the next 20 minutes or so walking around campus, blowing off steam and thinking about how furious he was. After a while, he felt more drained than angry and decided to head home.

He arrived to an empty flat. Zayn was working an evening shift at Costa and Liam was probably off studying somewhere. He checked the time. It was only half past 5. Neither of them would be home for hours.

He could play FIFA or watch _Sherlock_ or something, but honestly, Louis really didn’t fancy being alone at the moment. He opened FaceTime and scrolled through the contacts, clicking on Perrie’s name.

After two irritating trills of the FaceTime ringtone, Perrie’s face popped up on the screen. “Hullo, Lou!” she smiled at him. “I’ve just finished my last exam and—“ she stopped when she saw the grim expression on Louis’ face.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” she asked. “It’s nothing,” Louis answered quickly. Perrie frowned. “That’s bullshit. I’m coming over. Red or white wine?” 

Louis grinned weakly. “Both, please.” 

 

An hour later, Perrie was pouring Louis a large glass of wine while Louis divided Chinese takeout between two plates. “So. Do you want to talk about it or not?” 

Louis contemplated that for a moment. Of course, he was dying to rant about what a complete ass Harry Styles was. But when it came down to it, there was nothing to talk about, really. 

His TA and kind of boss had been rude to him. There was nothing else to it and he needed to get over himself. 

“Not, I think,” he replied firmly and Perrie nodded. “Alright. Drink then,” she said, handing him his glass, which he chugged gratefully. 

“Thanks, Pez. For being great and putting up with me." Perrie scoffed. “Put up with you? Please. I live for your ridiculous antics."

They spent the next hour drinking, watching stupid Youtube videos, and drinking some more. Louis was just crossing the border between tipsy and drunk when he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket.

It was a text from Harry. For half a second, he considered deleting the message without reading it. He didn’t care what Harry had to say.

But that was actually bullshit because of course he was dying to know what Harry had to say. He unlocked his phone and opened the text.

“I’m a prat and I lost my temper. I’m really sorry. Forgive me? -H”

For a single moment, Louis was completely disarmed by the message and by how stupidly charming Harry was.

For a moment, he wanted to type “It’s okay, please come over and wreck me now.” For a moment, he wanted to forget that he was still hurt and pissed and fucking frustrated by the whole situation.

But just for a moment. The next moment, Louis shut off his phone and threw it on the bed. He wasn’t about to fall for Harry’s Prince Charming routine again. He thought that he could yell at Louis over something that hadn’t even been his fault and then make it all go away with a nice text? Nope, that’s not how it worked.

 

Perrie had brought three bottles of wine to his place and they were all now lying empty on Louis’ desk and Louis was lying flat on his back on his rug staring at the ceiling. Perrie was reclined beside him absent-mindedly scrolling through her phone. 

“We really should have stopped after bottle two,” Perrie slurred after a bit. 

“God, I haven’t been this drunk on a fucking weekday since, since ever,” he groaned. “And I’ve got a class at noon. That should be fun.” 

Perrie yawned. “I’ve got a 10 o’clock. Might have to sit that one out, honestly.” Louis nodded absently and they both lay there in sleepy, drunken, comfortable silence for a few minutes. 

“So I met a boy,” Perrie announced, breaking the silence. Louis turned his head to her. “Oh yeah?” he asked with a smirk. “Who’s the latest victim then? Not someone from the football team again? I swear Stan was moping for three months after you were done with him.” 

Perrie giggled delightedly, not even bothering to deny that she was a shameless maneater. “He’s not on the football team. And it’s not like that. He’s—I like him,” she confessed giddily. Louis propped himself up on one elbow. 

“Who is this bloke and what has he done with Perrie Edwards?” he demanded. She grinned dopily. “His name’s Niall. I don’t think you know him. He’s a bit older.” 

Louis sat bolt upright. Could this be _Niall_ Niall? Harry’s mate aka boyfriend Niall, who Louis had been listening to Harry talk about for the better part of a month now. 

“Niall wouldn’t happen to be Irish and have blonde hair?” Louis inquired breathlessly. Perrie’s face scrunched in confusion. “How the fuck did you know that?” she asked.

“Because he’s dating Harry!” Louis exclaimed.

“You’re barking!” she laughed. “He is most definitely not dating Harry! Think I’d know!"

If Perrie was dating Niall, that did indeed mean that Harry wasn’t. That took a moment to sink in. Harry wasn’t dating Niall. Louis had to repeat it in his head a few times.

If Harry wasn’t dating Niall, he probably wasn’t dating anyone. The only people he ever talked about were Niall and his friends from home and his family. If there was another guy, it seemed like he definitely would have mentioned him by now. That meant that Harry was single. Harry was fucking single.

Louis was just starting to feel tendrils of giddiness curling in his stomach when he suddenly remembered that Harry was a dick and that he didn’t give a shit who Harry was or was not dating.

“Right. He’s Harry’s mate. Met him when I ran into Harry and I kind of assumed they were like, together. Seems like a nice guy,” he said in what he hoped was a nonchalant tone.

Perrie clearly wasn’t buying it. “Mmhmm,” she said. “Y’know, Lou, you’re allowed to be happy that Harry isn’t seeing someone,” she said matter-of-factly. “You’re allowed to like him, it’s okay.” 

“What’s the point? Nothing’s going to happen,” he said glumly. 

“You don’t know that,” Perrie replied. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you in class, Lou. Seen the way you two fucking shamelessly flirt when you think no one’s watching.” 

“You’re the one who’s barking now, Pez. That’s just our relationship. We’re—well, I thought we were friends.” 

Perrie snorted. “Please. Friends don’t look at friends like they wanna fuck each other’s brains out.” 

Louis burst out in shocked laughter and exclaimed, “Well, what in the hell am I supposed to do about it? We work together.” 

Perrie's eyes glinted mischievously. “Well, that just makes it all the more fun."

 

As he drifted off to sleep an hour later, he couldn’t stop replaying Perrie’s words in his mind: “I’ve seen the way he looks at you.” 

Could she be right? Could Harry actually be into him? The idea was kind of mind-boggling. And really exciting. 

Which made him hate himself because he was supposed to be mad and he wasn’t supposed to care. But when had Louis ever done anything that he was supposed to do, honestly?


	7. 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> will they or won't they?!? you'll find out soon, hope y'all enjoy ;))) 
> 
> btw, thinking i'm at about the halfway point now, so it's looking more like 15/16 chapters rather than 10. I literally can't believe this is turning out to be so long, good thing i'm enjoying myself so much, hahaha!

Louis woke the next morning with a slight headache that had to do with last night’s over-indulgence and a sinking in his chest that had to do with Harry Styles being the bane of his existence. But the week was over and exams were finished and he supposed he didn't have too much to complain about. 

Liam had finished his last exam that morning and he was buzzing throughout their shift.

“I feel proper alive again, mate! This is the first time I haven’t wanted to fucking pull my hair out in about a month,” he told Louis, who nodded vaguely.

“We should do something fun tonight!” Liam said excitedly. “Y’know, since we can’t go out tomorrow because of the match on Saturday.”

Louis bit back a grimace. “I—well, I told Zayn I’d go to Duplex with him tonight. He’s gonna DJ. You can come if you want,” he offered, fully expecting Liam to turn him down.

Instead, Liam grinned and said “Yeah, I do. Sounds like fun.” Louis’ face must have broadcast his surprise because Liam laughed and said “He’s still my mate. And it’s been a long time since the three of us have gone out. I’ve missed it. I’ve missed him, y’know?”

Louis did know. He missed the way things were before, how easy it had always felt. Nowadays, he was constantly on the lookout for some kind of awkwardness or tension between Liam and Zayn. So the fact that Liam was up for coming out with he and Zayn was music to Louis’ ears.

 

When Kathy returned to lock up and told them they were free to go, they left the shop together but stopped outside when they realized they weren’t sure where they were headed next.

“I’m starving. What are you doing for dinner?” Louis asked

“Fish and chip Thursday with Olly and Ed. Thought it was time to bring back the tradition. You down?”

“Yes, please!” Louis exclaimed. “I’ve missed fish and chip Thursday’s! Although if you think about it, fish and chip Friday’s has more of a ring to it.” 

They set off toward their neighborhood chippy in high spirits, looking forward to a night of fried food and beer. 

Dinner was full of football talk and far too many greasy chips and a collective sigh of relief that they were all finished with midterm exams. 

“Thank fuck my balls are finally out of Professor Smith’s vice grip. Her paper damn near killed me. Don’t think I’ve slept properly in a week,” Olly lamented between bites of fish. 

“C’mon mate, I don’t think you minded that much. I’m in that class with you. I know you’ve got the hots for Professor Smith,” Ed teased. 

Liam and Louis roared with laughter while Olly turned red and sputtered. 

“So, got any plans for tonight? Last night of freedom before the match on Saturday,” Ed asked them.

“Yeah, actually. Me and Lou are gonna go to Duplex,” Liam said casually. Louis raised his eyebrows. 

Everyone knew that Duplex was York’s only gay bar, and telling Olly and Ed that he was going there basically confirmed what they’d seen at the football party a few weeks ago. 

Louis felt a surge of affection for Olly and Ed when they didn’t even react to this news. “Ah. Very nice,” Ed replied. “Pour one out for me, mate. Ellie’s dragging me to some art show so I won’t exactly be having a wild night.” 

Olly chuckled. “You’re so whipped, man,” he taunted. Ed rolled his eyes. “Whatever. I’m getting laid, which is more than I can say for you.” Louis cackled. He loved when Ed took the piss out of Olly, which was basically all the time.

* * *

Back at the flat an hour later, Louis was sitting in Zayn’s room smoking a joint while The Weeknd blared on Zayn’s high-tech speakers. Louis hovered close to the open window, trying to blow the smoke out of the room so that the neighbors didn’t complain. 

Zayn, on the other hand, was sprawled on his bed blowing smoke into the air without a care in the world. Louis inhaled deeply and was overtaken by the wonderfully relaxing feeling of easing into a warm bath as the smoke filled his lungs. 

“Joint lit, happy days,” he said, grinning spacily. Zayn rolled his eyes. “Stop,” he deadpanned and Louis laughed. He always got giddy like this when he was stoned. 

“Oh, yeah. Forgot to tell you. Liam’s coming. To Duplex,” Louis said. Zayn looked up in alarm. “He—he is?” Zayn asked. 

“Yeah, that’s okay, innit?” he asked slightly suspiciously, because why the hell wouldn’t it be? Liam was their best mate, and Louis was starting to get sick of Zayn acting so strangely about this. 

“Yeah, course,” Zayn murmured, but he looked slightly distressed. Louis just stood there and looked at him inquiringly for a few seconds and Zayn gazed back, unfazed. 

Liam chose that moment to rap lightly on the door and poke his head inside. “Hullo,” he said, smiling at Louis and Zayn and then wrinkling his nose at the strong, skunky odor that overpowered the room. 

“Didn’t know you two were smoking before we went out,” he said. “Would have invited you to join, but I thought you were going to Olly's for a bit,” Louis drawled. “Yeah, I ended up not staying for long,” he replied. 

“Well, come in, then,” Zayn said to him, waving him inside the room. Liam sank into the desk chair, accepting the joint that Louis passed him. 

“So…it’s been a while since we all went out, hm? Should be a good time,” he said conversationally, coughing as he took a pull.

“Yeah,” Zayn replied. “Never been with you to Duplex, mate,” he said, cocking his head and giving Liam a slightly pointed look. There was a very pregnant pause at Zayn's words. 

Louis glared at Zayn from across the room. Liam looked at the floor and frowned. After a moment, he looked up and his brown eyes were wide and apologetic. “M’sorry, Zee,” he said. Zayn stared back with an oddly soft expression that Louis hadn’t seen before. “You don’t have to apologize, Li. You know that,” he murmured. 

Liam didn’t reply, and they both just sat there in this strangely intense silence. Louis suddenly felt uncomfortable, like he was intruding on a private moment that he wasn’t supposed to be a part of.

And because he was Louis and he was a little high and he didn’t know what the hell else to do, he cleared his throat loudly and said, “Well. We should probably get going pretty soon, eh?” 

Liam and Zayn both started and broke eye contact, turning to look at Louis. “Yeah, guess so,” Zayn answered absently, taking the last drag of his joint and reaching to snuff it out on his windowsill. 

 

“The last time you DJ’ed Stone Roses I woke up the next morning wearing nothing but a cowboy hat,” Louis chuckled as he locked their front door behind them. “That was a sick night!” Zayn exclaimed. 

“Wait, was that the night we saw Greg fucking James from Radio 1 and Louis tried to put the moves on him?” Liam asked. 

They both cackled at the memory. “Most embarrassing fucking night of my life,” Louis announced dramatically. 

“You were very charming. I definitely think he would have gone for it if he wasn’t straight, man,” Liam said fairly, making Zayn laugh even harder. 

“Lou offered to give him a lap dance!” Zayn choked, causing both of them to dissolve in another fit of giggles while Louis shook his head and gave them both a stony look. 

“Yes, let’s all mock Louis!” he exclaimed theatrically. “You make it so easy, mate!” Zayn said, putting Louis in a headlock and ruffling his hair. “Fuck off!” Louis laughed, squirming out from under Zayn’s arm and elbowing him in the process. 

The pub was a fairly long walk, and by the time they arrived, it was a bit past 10. As soon as they walked through the door, the bar’s owner came up to them and clapped Zayn on the back. “DJ Malik! Good to have you back, man!” he said enthusiastically. “What can I get you lads to drink? First one’s on the house!”

There weren’t very many things in this world that Louis loved more than free booze. He turned to Zayn and Liam. “Shots, anyone?” They both nodded enthusiastically. Two minutes later, all three of them were holding generous shots of whiskey. 

“Bottoms up, lads!” Louis shouted and they all knocked back their drinks. Zayn wiped his mouth and said, “Right. Best be off. Speakers and shit to set up.” He wandered off in the direction of the sound booth.

Liam gazed after him for a moment then looked back at Louis with a steely, determined look. “Lou. Tonight I’m going to flirt with as many guys as I possibly can.” 

Louis raised an eyebrow. “With Zayn here? You don’t think that’ll be weird?” Liam shrugged. “I figure it might help me get over him. I mean, it’s not like I can be any more into him than I already am, is it?” 

Louis had to admit that he had a point there. “Well then,” he said, raising his second drink in the air to propose a toast. “Here’s to both of us getting blasted and finding the fittest blokes in this fucking place!” Liam grinned and clinked his glass against Louis’ before taking a large swig.

* * *

For the next hour or so, that’s exactly what they did. By the time they finished their drinks, Louis was starting to feel the alcohol in his bloodstream, giving him that exhilarating buzzing sensation that made him feel warm and bold and reckless. 

After five minutes or so standing at the bar, Louis and Liam were approached by two extremely fit blokes. One of them was athletic and Nordic-looking, with high cheekbones, blonde hair, and dark blue-grey eyes. The other was lanky, with chocolate-brown skin, light hazel eyes, and a warm smile.

The blonde immediately pivoted towards Louis and stuck out his hand to introduce himself, shooting Louis a wide grin as he did so. Louis grasped the man’s outstretched hand and introduced himself as well.

The bloke’s friend said his name and gave Louis a friendly wave. Louis grinned and waved back. After a moment, the bloke looked away, focusing on Liam. 

The hot blonde also turned out to be fucking Norwegian. And a semi-professional skier. And an excellent dancer. Which Louis discovered 10 minutes later after they had taken another round of shots (which Louis didn’t pay for, thank you very much) and headed to the club’s dance floor.

The music was phenomenal. As usual, Zayn was smashing it. His mixes were the perfect blend of thudding bass and a danceable beat. They were sexy and high-energy at the same time and the crowd was loving it.

Louis included. His back was pressed firmly against blondie’s chest. He circled his hips lazily and enjoyed the feeling of large hands on his waist pressing him closer. 

And Louis just knew this was going to be fun. It had been way too long since he’d done this. Lately, he’d been too preoccupied by Harry fucking Styles to even consider it. Harry and his chiseled jawline and his full lips and his long, long legs and, of course, his eyes. His fucking hypnotizing bright green eyes. 

The thought of Harry ignited a jolt of crackling electricity in the pit of his stomach. But he pushed it away immediately. Fuck Harry. Fuck feelings. This was simple and thoughtless and fun, and it was enough for Louis.

 

“This place is usually a great time, but it’s even better than usual tonight. This DJ’s sick!” the bloke leaned down to say in Louis’ ear. “He’s my best mate!” Louis exclaimed, pointing toward the sound booth where Zayn was stationed. 

“Doesn’t look too happy at the moment, does he?” the other man asked. Louis looked closer and was surprised to see that Zayn was indeed looking rather mutinous. He was glaring across the room and Louis followed his gaze to where Liam was dancing with blondie’s friend.  Suddenly, Zayn looked away and made eye contact with Louis instead.

They proceeded to have the kind of silent conversation you can only have with someone you know extremely well. Louis looked at Zayn inquiringly and Zayn answered him with a weak smile and a thumb’s up. Louis shot Zayn a “don’t bullshit me” look, at which Zayn rolled his eyes imperiously. Louis raised his hands as if to say, “Fine, suit yourself,” and turned his energy back to lapping up the attention he was getting from blondie.

Several songs later, Louis was feeling rather sweaty and also thirsty. He and blondie returned to the bar, where Louis ordered a water and a gin and tonic, which blondie had insisted on paying for. Which worked for Louis. Once they’d gotten their drinks, Louis looked around for Liam. He spotted him and the man he’d been dancing with walking toward the bar. Louis waved them over. 

 

“Hullo!” he smiled. “Having fun yet?” Liam grinned and nodded. “Thomas was just telling me about his job. He’s an actor,” Liam said, gesturing to his dance partner and looking stupidly proud of himself. 

“Oh, really? And do you like it?” Louis asked him politely. The other bloke nodded and talked for a bit about a play he was working on. But before long, he had turned his attention back to Liam and Louis was listening to blondie talk about some skiing competition he had recently won and imagining what he looked like naked.

The group was interrupted by a gruff voice behind them. “Hey.” It was Zayn. He had apparently abandoned his post at the sound booth. 

“Zayn! Great job so far, mate!” Louis said enthusiastically, but Zayn wasn’t looking at him. His eyes were trained on Liam. At the sound of Zayn’s voice, Liam looked up and started. 

“Zayn! Hi! What are you doing over here?” Liam asked breathlessly, taking half a step away from the guy he’d just been flirting with. “Figured I could use a break. Just put on one of my playlists,” he replied curtly. “Oh, uh cool!” Liam said, attempting a bright, cheery tone. “Do you—“ he started, but Zayn interrupted him. 

“Dance with me,” he said assertively. Liam gaped at him, his mouth dropping open to form an almost-comical O shape. “O-okay, yeah, okay!” he blurt out and practically tripped over his feet following Zayn onto the dance floor, not even bothering to make an excuse to the bloke he’d just been talking to.

 

There was a moment of stunned silence. Then, the guy shook his head. “Well, fuck me,” he sighed. His tone was good-natured and Louis couldn’t help but laugh. “Ah, well, onto the next,” the man said, and turned to talk to another guy at the bar.

Normally, Louis would have been in shock after such a dramatic display. But he was kind of preoccupied at the moment because the blonde bloke was had just  leaned in and breathed “Let’s dance,” into Louis' ear.

He let himself get lost in the blaring of the music and the sensation of a warm body pressed against his and the way that the alcohol made everything pleasantly fuzzy. 

That is, until he looked up to see the front door of the bar swinging open and letting in a gust of the cool night breeze. He caught a glance of the man entering the bar and felt his whole body freeze up. Because, shit. Holy. Fucking. Shit.

* * *

It was Harry. Harry had just walked into the bar. And honestly, it should be illegal for anyone to look as good as Harry looked right now. 

His hair was mussed carelessly and his cheeks were slightly flushed and a smile ghosted his lips and he was absolutely sinful in tight black jeans and a sheer black button down with half the buttons undone. 

Harry looked around the room and his eyes met Louis’. Suddenly, Louis was only vaguely aware of what was going on around him. He hardly noticed the music thudding and the bodies pressing in around him and the spotlights undulating and changing colors. 

Because the look that Harry was giving him had driven absolutely everything else out of his mind. There was a piercing, almost wild look in his eyes that sent an inexplicable little thrill of something (fear? anticipation?) zinging down the small of Louis’ back. 

Harry was going to walk up to him, he just knew it. The way that he was looking at Louis right now, so purposeful and fucking hungry, he just fucking had to. Louis braced himself, allowed himself to savor the delicious agony of waiting.

But then Harry looked away and strode toward the bar and the spell was broken. 

All of Louis’ senses returned in full swing; the music suddenly felt too loud and the lights too intense and the dance floor so unbearably warm. And Louis suddenly remembered blondie, who was still plastered to his back with a hand gripping his waist. 

Right, that. The reason he was here in the first place. Well, if Harry didn’t want him, this guy sure as fuck did. Louis turned and laced his arms around the other man's neck, grinding his hips obscenely. It was dirty and good and it should have been enough. 

Under normal circumstances, it would have been. Louis would have counted himself extremely lucky to be practically dry humping a gorgeous Scandinavian skier on a crowded dance floor. 

But Harry Styles was in his immediate vicinity and circumstances were far from normal. 

Despite himself, Louis glanced around the packed bar. After a couple seconds, he located Harry leaning against the bar with a drink in his hand. He was talking to someone but his eyes were fixed on Louis.

When he saw that Louis had spotted him, Harry grinned at him over blondie’s head, a dark, feral smile that twisted at Louis’ insides.It was like he was taunting Louis, teasing him and daring him to make a move. 

Proud to the end, Louis couldn’t bring himself to give Harry the satisfaction. He wasn’t going to throw himself at Harry and get humiliated. 

At the same time, he couldn’t just not do anything. There had been this kind of pressure mounting inside his chest every time he spoke to Harry or saw Harry or thought about Harry for the last…week? Month? He didn’t even know.

He did know that he might die if he didn’t find out one way or another whether it was real or all in his head. So, after several moments of deliberation, Louis made a decision and resolved to act quickly before he lost his nerve.

“Gonna go outside and have a smoke,” Louis murmured. “I’ll come with,” the bloke offered. “That’s okay, you don’t have to,” Louis replied in a flat tone which clearly implied that 'you don’t have to' actually meant 'I don’t want you to.' 

Before the man could respond, Louis began making his way to the door, weaving between sweaty bodies. 

Then he was outside, the brisk night air hitting his face and sobering him up a bit. He rubbed his arms and felt goosebumps already beginning to form. It was quite chilly and Louis was only wearing a thin t-shirt, but the alcohol made him less sensitive to the cold, made it feel refreshing rather than unbearable. 

 

Louis reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out the pack of cigarettes that he usually carried with him when he went out. He didn’t smoke regularly, but he often found himself wanting a cigarette after a few drinks and he figured that a few now and then wouldn’t kill him (despite Liam’s disapproving insistence otherwise). 

He stood there for a moment, not moving, just waiting and half-hoping. H e knew what he wanted to happen, even if he couldn’t fully admit it to himself. 

As he lit his cigarette, his hands shook a bit because of the cold, but also because of the maddening, nerve-wracking sensation that gripped him as he waited to find out whether he was right or just fucking stupid. 

He took a deep drag on his cigarette and exhaled shakily. Fuck. This was ridiculous. Louis was ridiculous. What was he thinking, imagining that Harry would follow him out here?

It must have been less than a minute, but it seemed to drag on for an hour. The door swung open and Louis looked up and his brain stopped working. 

Standing there, framed in the doorway and fixing him with a satisfied smirk, was Harry. 

Louis didn’t say anything, just stood there and wondered whether or not Harry could actually hear the frantic pounding of his heart as it threatened to beat out of his chest.

“Hello, Louis,” Harry said at last. His voice was low and raspy and, God, surely he didn't always sound this fucking hot. 

“Harry,” Louis nodded, trying to sound nonchalant and failing miserably, because Harry had just taken a slow, purposeful step toward him. 

Louis gulped and and Harry grinned roguishly, like he was enjoying the obvious effect he had on Louis. 

He took another step closer. He was close. So close that Louis could count every one of his absurdly long eyelashes. So close that he could almost feel Harry breathing. So close that Louis' brain was short-circuiting. Synapses firing and sparking and fizzling out. 

And then Harry was even closer and before he knew what he was doing, Louis was leaning into him, eyes fixed on those gorgeous puffy lips. 

“Do you mind if I—“ Harry said, reaching for Louis’ cigarette. Louis passed it to him with fumbling fingers, watching him greedily. 

Harry took the cigarette slowly, then drew it to his lips and took a long, leisurely pull. He exhaled over Louis’ head and then dropped the cigarette on the ground, stamping it out under the heel of his boot.

“You shouldn’t smoke, Lou. Bad habit,” he said, so quietly it was almost a whisper. His pupils were blown and he was looking at Louis intently, his eyes roving between Louis’ eyes and his lips.

 

The air changed around them. Louis knew what was going to happen next—it felt inevitable and he wanted it. No. Fucking needed it. Needed it like oxygen. 

Harry was leaning in now and he was closer than close, so close. Louis took a deep breath and closed the distance between them. 

And holy shit, he was kissing Harry Styles. Kissing him hard. Kissing like a car crash. Desperate and messy and wild. Kissing Harry wasn't safe or sweet. It was like burning alive. Like driving 90 miles an hour straight off a cliff. Every purposeful drag of his lips set Louis on fire. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't think anything beyond moremoremore and nownownow.

Louis forgot that he was in public and he forgot that his mates were around and he forgot that Harry was against the rules and he forgot that this was definitely very, very bad. The section of his brain that usually handled rational thought had apparently short-circuited and he was operating on impulse alone.

Harry had an arm around Louis’ waist, and he used it to maneuver him against the bar’s brick wall. Louis tipped his head up to allow Harry better access to his mouth, which he eagerly took advantage of. After a few moments, however, Louis laced his hands around Harry’s neck and tangled them in his curly hair. He tugged gently with one hand and Harry's mouth fell open.

Louis took control of the kiss, sliding his tongue into Harry’s mouth. Harry tasted like cigarettes and alcohol, but also a bit like peppermint. He was just thinking about how he might already be addicted to the taste when a sudden thought struck him. 

 

Louis pulled away. "How long?" he breathed. "Huh?" Harry managed, eyes hooded and chest heaving. "How long have you—wanted this?" Louis asked. 

"Fuck, since I saw you in that bar at the beginning of term. You looked fucking edible. Wanted to take you home and wreck you,” Harry rambled, no trace of embarrassment or hesitation in his voice. 

“Fucking took you long enough to figure it out, didn’t it?” he murmured, ghosting his lips on Louis’ ear, teeth sliding against the shell torturously slowly and the only thought that he could currently muster was “oh, God.”

“Almost fucking lost it when you came in all sweaty from practice last week. Wanted to take off those shorts and blow you against the table still wearing your jersey,” Harry growled in Louis’ ear. 

He was grinding his crotch into Louis’ so that Louis could feel the hard line of his cock through his jeans. “Fuck,” Louis moaned, tipping his head back so that Harry could trace his lips up his neck.

Harry gripped Louis’ chin, tilting his face up and mashing their lips together again. It was rough and messy and out of control, all tongue and teeth. 

This time, Harry was the one to pull back. “Louis,” he panted. “W-what?” Louis breathed frantically, leaning back into Harry in at attempt to reclaim his lips.  But Harry had size on him, and he held Louis back. 

Harry looked down at him for a long moment, green eyes blazing. Then he bit his already red and slightly swollen bottom lip and disentangled himself from Louis, murmuring “Follow me."

* * *

Louis stared after him dumbly for about three seconds, unable to speak or move. He wasn’t completely sure whether this was actually happening or not. The absurdity of running into Harry and him following Louis outside and then having the hottest make-out of his life pushed against the wall of a pub—the whole thing seemed completely surreal. 

Louis didn’t know where Harry was going or what he was up to. But he did know that he had never been as attracted to anyone in his life than he was to Harry Styles. He also knew that his dick was straining uncomfortably against his jeans and that he needed to take care of that situation ASAP. He would probably follow Harry straight off a bridge at this point.

So he stumbled after Harry, who was heading back into the bar.   After Louis slipped through the door, Harry grabbed his wrist and steered him through the crowded room, past the dance floor and towards the back. 

Even through the confused chaos the whole situation had created in Louis’ head, he registered some surprise at this. He had assumed that they were going to go dance or something. 

When they had reached a shadowy corner at the very back of the room, Harry turned back to Louis, pulling him close. "What're you doing?" Louis asked as Harry's lips traced a path up Louis' neck. 

“I want you, Lou. Don’t think I can wait,” Harry murmured in response, his voice a little raspy and so hot that Louis forgot that Harry hadn't actually answered his question. 

 

“Come with me,” he said and grabbed Louis’ hand. He led them through a corridor, past the loo and around a corner where there were two doors, one that Louis could tell that Louis was the back exit and the other plain and unmarked. Harry looked over his shoulder furtively and then, seeing that the coast was clear, he wrenched the door open. 

It was a small, dark room that seemed to be some type of storage space. There were two walls of shelves which contained various pieces of AV equipment and cleaning supplies.

They both crowded into the cramped little room and Harry shut the door behind them, taking care to lock it behind them. He pushed Louis against the door and leaned down to suck a mark on Louis’ neck. 

“Want you in my mouth, Lou. S’all I’ve been thinking about, been driving me mad,” he mumbled, carding his fingers in the hair at the back of Louis’ head and pulling gently to tip his head up for a rough kiss. 

Then Harry pulled away to look at Louis with wide, serious eyes. “Is that okay?” he asked. And his face was suddenly earnest and ardent, his eyes searching Louis’.

Louis gaped at him in disbelief for a moment. It had just hit him that Harry Styles wanted to blow him in a fucking broom cupboard in the back of a bar. And this was fucking filthy. Which was the last thing he would have expected from prim, proper Harry, with his excellent manners and upscale wardrobe and posh accent.

Louis would normally have been disgusted by the very idea of hooking up with someone practically in public, where anyone could stumble upon them. But this was Harry. And it was so shocking and out-of-character; and Louis kind of hated himself for it, but he was ridiculously, inexplicably turned on by the whole thing. 

So he nodded vigorously and grabbed Harry’s waist to pull him in for another kiss, rough and bruising. “Hell yeah,” Louis breathed shakily when he pulled away. Harry hummed happily and  cupped Louis’ cheek, pulling him into a kiss that was more controlled than before, more tender and intimate, somehow. 

Then Harry was pulling away and dropping to his knees in front of Louis. He popped the button on Louis' jeans and then leaned forward and — holy mother of God-tugged the zipper down using his teeth. That was the precise moment that Louis realized he was completely and utterly fucked.

“Getting right down to business, eh Styles?” he said to cover up the fact that he was about 0.5 seconds away from cardiac arrest.

“Can you blame me? I've kind of been dreaming about this moment for about a month now," Harry said casually. Louis opened his mouth to respond, but at that moment, Harry palmed him through his pants and what came out of his mouth instead was an embarrassing whimper-sigh that made Harry smirk.

Then, slowly — agonizingly, torturously slowly, Harry rolled Louis’ pants down, exposing his painfully hard cock. Louis closed his eyes and tipped his head back, savoring that delicious feeling of inevitability that made him feel like he was about to jump out of his skin. 

He opened his eyes when he heard Harry's voice. “Can’t wait to have you in my mouth. Been waiting for fucking ages.” Then he looked down at Louis’ cock and literally licked his fucking lips. And Louis thought that he might burst into flames if he didn’t have Harry’s mouth on him in the next two seconds.

 

Finally, finally, Harry leaned in and licked a long, slow stripe up his cock from base to tip. Louis felt like he might black out from the sheer pleasure of it. 

Because it had been an excruciating month, wanting and telling himself not to want and imagining and fucking dreaming about this moment. And also because Harry was really fucking good at this. 

He took the head of Louis’ cock in his mouth and was doing something incredible with his tongue that made Louis back into the shelving behind him to prevent his knees from giving out.  “Fuck, Harry,” he whined and bucked his hips forward a bit. Harry smirked, but didn’t take him any deeper, just licked sloppily around the head as Louis got more and more wound up.

“You’re teasing,” Louis finally hissed, reaching down and tangling a hand in Harry’s long hair. Harry looked up at him smugly and pulled off with an obscene little pop.  “It’s fun to see you all frustrated. So easy,” he murmured and he gave another tauntingly light lick up the length of Louis' cock. Louis whined and ran a frantic hand through his hair.

"Harry, please," he whimpered. At this, Harry actually winked. "Mm, the magic word."  Harry licked his lips and took him almost all the way down. Louis’ body arched forward and his head slammed back with the pure shock of it.

It didn’t even hurt when he felt the back of his head collide with a shelf. Because every nerve ending in his body was currently focused on the overwhelming sensation of being enveloped by the hot wetness of Harry’s mouth. 

He looked down at Harry and groaned at the sight of him. His lips were obscenely red and slick and swollen, stretched tight around Louis’s cock, his cheeks hollowing out whenever he pulled up. His eyes were closed and he had slipped the hand that wasn’t on the back of Louis’ thigh down his own jeans to touch himself.  Louis was transfixed by the sight of the muscles working in Harry’s arm and the way his breathing was coming heavier now as he continued to take Louis deeper into his mouth.  The fact that Harry was so turned on from giving Louis head that he had to touch himself made Louis’ stomach twist in on itself.

Then Louis hit the back of Harry’s throat and he nearly came on the spot. Somehow, he stopped himself and tugged desperately on Harry’s hair. “H-Harry. I’m—ngh, bout to come,” he strained. Instead of pulling off, Harry went at it even more enthusiastically than before, taking him so deep that his nose was practically touching Louis’ abdomen. Then Harry moaned and Louis could feel the vibration around his cock. And that was it. The next second, Louis was coming with a loud groan. “God, fuck, Harry,” he moaned, and Harry gasped in response, his hand working feverishly on his own cock now.

When he felt Louis’ body go limp a few moments later, Harry pulled off and rested his head against Louis’ hip, continuing to stroke himself. “Fuck, Lou. M’so close,” he said and his voice was rough and fucking wrecked and it was possibly the hottest thing Louis had ever heard.  Louis carded his fingers through Harry’s hair and tugged at the back, where it met the nape of his neck, pulling his head up so that their eyes met. Harry groaned and sucked a mark on Louis’ hip, right over his hipbone. Then he let out a strangled moan and his whole body stiffened for a moment, then went limp. Louis gazed down at him, and neither of them spoke for a moment; they just stood(or, in Harry's case, kneeled) there, breathing heavily and staring at each other. 

“Where in the fuck did you learn to suck dick like that?” Louis said at last. Harry just laughed lazily and patted the back of Louis’ leg. “M’just a natural,” he winked, tucking Louis back into his pants and standing up gingerly.  Louis fumbled with his jeans and straightened back up to face Harry, who was was fixing him with a cocky (pun fully intended) grin.

“Well, see you later, Lou,” he said brightly and leaned forward to press a surprisingly chaste kiss to the corner of Louis’ lips before turning on his heel and walking out the door.

 

Louis stood rooted to the spot for a good 45 seconds trying to make sense of what had just happened. Harry had swooped in, dragged him into a fucking broom cupboard, and given him the best blowjob of his life, then he'd swooped right back out as if nothing had happened. 

Who does that? Normal people didn't do that type of shit. Then again, Harry Styles clearly wasn't a normal person. He was a fucking sexy sex robot sent to Earth to destroy Louis. 

Louis was half-expecting to wake up in his bed and discover that he had dreamed the whole thing. But several moments later, he found himself still very much awake. Shaking his head bemusedly, he slipped out of the closet and into the hallway that led back into the main area of the bar.

* * *

Louis quickly realized that, in the course of the night’s adventures, he had completely forgotten about Liam and Zayn. Now that Harry’s lips weren’t wrapped around his dick, he felt like a  shit friend for ignoring that whole situation. 

He ducked into the loo to try and clean up a bit before he tried to find them. He  couldn’t suppress a sheepish grin when he saw his reflection.  His hair was a disaster, sticking up in spots where he’d run his hands through it and matted to his forehead with sweat. His lips looked red and bitten and his eyes were red-rimmed as well, which probably had to do with the weed and the alcohol. 

He splashed some water on his face and tried to tame his hair (a wasted effort, honestly). Then he took a deep breath and walked back out to the bar to find his mates.

He spotted Liam sitting at the bar, shoulders hunched in what Louis could see even from across the room was a dejected slouch. “Oh, fuck all,” Louis murmured to himself as he weaved through the still-crowded pub towards Liam.

When he reached him, Louis put a hand on Liam’s shoulder. “Hullo, mate!” he bellowed over the shitty dubstep remix blasting through the speakers. Liam looked up at him with a disconcerted expression on his face.

“Where’s Zayn?” Louis asked, which he realized a split second later had been a huge mistake. Liam’s lower lip trembled and his eyes widened. “He left!” Liam exclaimed dramatically. 

“We were dancing and it was great and then I must have done something wrong because he just went all dead behind the eyes and fucking ran away! Why do I have to fuck everything up?” he groaned in something approaching anguish, burying his head in his hands. 

Ah. Well, that explained the terrible music at least, Louis thought to himself as he took Liam by the arm and pulled him up. “Let’s go home, Li,” he said softly as he guided them both toward the door. 

Louis spent their Uber ride home plotting ways that he was going to kill Zayn Malik. He was officially done with all of Zayn’s bullshit—the weird, passive aggressive silence and the mixed signals and the stupid excuses. Zayn was his best mate and his oldest friend, but Louis wasn’t going to let him yank Liam around this way. 

Underneath all of the anger he felt towards Zayn, Louis also felt a strong wave of guilt for leaving Liam to deal with all of that alone, too distracted by his own shit to look out for his friend. 

But honestly, Louis thought to himself bitterly, they weren’t children, were they? Louis had just wanted one night to let loose and have a little fun. Clearly, it had been naive to think that anything in his life could just be simple and uncomplicated for once. 

When Louis stopped to consider just how complicated and confusing the night had turned out to be, he felt the beginnings of a bad headache. He needed water and paracetamol and, more than anything, sleep.

* * *

When Louis woke the next morning (or at least he thought it was morning? It was a little unclear), it was with a throbbing headache and morning breath that he thought could probably knock someone out. 

He groaned and turned over in bed, which he immediately regretted. The small movement both intensified the pain in his head and made his stomach lurch unpleasantly. Fuck. A massive hangover had not been part of his plan for the day.

Shit, what all had he had to drink last night? He thought back to smoking with Liam and Zayn then arriving at Duplex then taking shots then dancing with cute guys then taking more shots then Zayn dancing with Liam then, holy shit. 

Harry. Harry had happened last night. Vivid flashes of Harry—Harry taking a deep pull from his cigarette, Harry’s mouth on his, Harry dropping to his knees with a wicked smile on his face—ran through Louis’ mind, sending a pulse of heat through his whole body.

Oh, god. No. This wasn’t possible. There was no way that Louis was actually this fucking stupid. He groaned and pulled the covers back over his head, burying his face in the pillow. What had he been thinking, acting that way? 

Working with Harry had been hard enough when all he had to fuel his fancy were idle daydreams. Now, though? Now he was really and truly fucked. 

Because now he knew exactly what Harry tasted like and the sound he made when he came and the way his mouth felt on Louis’ cock. And no, he _wasn’t_ getting turned on at the mere thought of this, absolutely fucking not.

This was bad. Really, really bad. Harry being ridiculously, unfairly gorgeous didn’t change the fact that he was the teaching assistant for one of Louis’ classes and, even worse, Louis’ supervisor at his research job. Which made what happened last night very, very wrong. 

Louis shuddered to think about the number of rules he had broken with his drunken, reckless, stupidity. Although to be fair, Harry had been in the driver's seat for most of last night's little adventure. Harry had been the one who dragged him into that closet and given him an amazing enthusiastic blowie and then run away without a backwards glance.

That didn't stop Louis from feeling like a steaming pile of shit right now. He had gone along with it, wanted it more than he had ever wanted anything, basically fucking begged for it. 

 

That wasn’t the only thing that made Louis want to jump out of his window, though. He knew deep down that what he felt for Harry was more than just sexual attraction. Harry listened to him and asked about his life and laughed at his jokes and made him feel warm and smily and cheerful every time Louis saw him. 

He felt comfortable with Harry in a way that he hadn’t felt with anyone for a long time and there was this intensely undeniable spark between them that went beyond physical attraction.

All of that had been easy enough to dismiss when nothing had happened between them, when Louis could tell himself that it was one-sided, all in his head. But after last night, it was obvious that it had not, in fact, been all in Louis’ head. Even though he couldn’t for the life of him figure out what Harry saw in him, he clearly saw something that he quite liked. 

Which made all of the feelings Louis had been shoving to the back of his brain more real and more terrifying and more unflinchingly unavoidable. Louis knew what he wanted from Harry, had probably known all along. But it wasn’t an option. 

He wasn’t going to go all soft and make himself vulnerable, just so he could get hurt again. He had promised himself that he wouldn’t go down that road, not after last time. Louis didn’t do feelings, and that was that. 

There was only one thing for it, really. He was going to have to put distance between himself and Harry. Which fucking sucked because Harry was Harry and he was incredible and damn near irresistible. 

 

Louis spent most of the morning in bed feeling sorry for himself. At around noon, he checked his email and found a message from his football coach informing him that he'd be leading warmups at practice that night.

Louis let out a groan.  They had practice this evening. Today was Friday, meaning that tomorrow was their game against Liverpool. Meaning that Louis had about six hours to pull his head out of his ass and get his life together.

He took a deep breath. He could do this. He was going to take some medicine and get something to eat and then potentially kick Zayn’s ass. 

But first, he really, desperately needed a shower. He could still taste the sickly sweet and bitter combination of alcohol and tobacco on his breath, and his hair was a national disaster at this point. He said a quick prayer that his headache wouldn’t be too excruciating when he stood up, took a deep breath, and rose from his bed at long last. 

And yeah, the headache was pretty awful. But as he sat on the edge of his bed half an hour later forcing down a glass of water and two pain relievers, he felt halfway human again. It was amazing what toothpaste and shampoo can do for one’s morale and general sense of dignity. 

* * *

At around 2 in the afternoon, Zayn slunk into Louis’ room carrying two paper bags from their favorite sandwich shop and wearing a guilty expression on his face. Louis took a bit of comfort in the fact that Zayn looked almost as hungover as he felt. 

“I feel awful, mate,” Zayn started, but Louis cut him off. “Yeah, well you fucking should, Zayn. What the fuck?” Zayn crossed the room and sunk onto the cushy bean bag chair in the corner of Louis’ room. 

“I know,” he groaned, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I just—I feel like I’ve been going mad lately and last night, it all kind of blew up,” he said. Louis didn’t say anything, just crossed his arms over his chest and nodded, waiting for Zayn to say more. Zayn sighed and continued. “I—fuck this is hard to say.“ he took a deep breath. “I have a thing for Liam.” 

For some reason, the first thing that Louis thought of was the conversation he’d had with Harry after work last week where Harry had asked Louis if he thought Zayn fancied Liam. Well, turns out Harry had been right after all. Louis couldn’t suppress a little smile. This was a good thing. Louis could convince Zayn to go for it with Liam and then things could be okay between them again. 

 

“Okay,” Louis said slowly. “When did it start?” Zayn thought for a moment. “I guess I started thinking about it after I found out that Liam's into guys. Like, I’d never thought of him that way before but then I just did all of a sudden. I thought it would just go away if I ignored it. I wanted it to go away, Lou. He’s one of my best mates, y’know? But last night, he was all over that other bloke and I just couldn’t fucking take it."

“So what went wrong? He said you left.” Louis said, more dumfounded than angry now. Zayn buried his face in his hands again. “I—well, I panicked, didn’t I? We were dancing and it was good, hell, it was great, and then he was leaning in and I started leaning in and we were, like, about to, you know.” Zayn looked down at his feet, uncharacteristically bashful. 

“But then it hit me that Liam doesn’t feel the same as I do and it’s unfair to him to drag him into all of my shit when he’s just like, trying to figure stuff out.” Louis gaped at him. Zayn was scarily intuitive, but he obviously had one huge, Liam-sized blind spot. Anyone with eyes could see that Liam was mad about Zayn. Except Zayn, apparently.

“I care about him, Lou. And I don’t want to use him or take advantage of the fact that he’s, like, new to this stuff, y’know?” Louis sat on his bed and examined Zayn, carefully considering his response. 

On one hand, it would have been so easy to blurt out, “No worries, mate! As luck would have it, Liam most definitely wants to do more than just experiment with you. Like, he wants to date the fuck out of you!” But he knew full well that Liam would die if he told Zayn all that, so that was out. 

He suspected that a vague nudge in the right direction wasn't going to be enough. Zayn Malik was the most stubborn bastard Louis knew, and he was terrible at taking people’s advice. He would probably listen to what Louis told him to do and do the exact opposite.

 

“How are you so sure that he doesn’t feel that way about you?” Louis asked at last. Zayn snorted. “He’s obviously not into me, Lou. Not if he’s hitting on other guys and making out with blokes at Stone Roses,” Zayn grumbled, his cheeks reddening. “Like, maybe he’s attracted to me or maybe he was just drunk last night, but I know that he doesn’t fancy me.”

“I don’t think you should make assumptions like that, Zee. Y’never know.” Zayn shot him a look that very clearly expressed he thought Louis was full of it. Then, he reached into the bag on his lap and pulled out a sandwich, tossing it over to Louis.

“A peace offering. The Morning After Sub.” Louis whooped gleefully and unwrapped his sandwich eagerly. If there was a magic hangover cure, this sandwich was it. It had salami and grilled onions and peppers and a fried egg and it made no sense, but it worked every time.

They ate in appreciative silence, and by the time he finished his sub, Louis was almost feeling like himself again. Zayn gathered his sandwich wrapper and tossed it in the bag, then reached for Louis’ to do the same. Suddenly, he looked up. “I almost forgot to ask. Where’d you get off to last night? You disappeared for a while there,” he said, giving Louis a knowing smirk. 

This time, Louis was the one blushing. “I—well, I ran into someone I knew,” he said evasively. “It was that bloke you work with, wasn't it? Harry, right?” Zayn asked. Louis stared at him. "How the fuck did you know that?" he demanded. Zayn rolled his eyes. "I know you, Lou. You have that stupid, doe-eyed look on your face right now and I've known that you wanted his dick for ages."

"I most certainly have not!" Louis sputtered indignantly. "You're a shit liar," Zayn informed him. "Yeah well, it doesn't really matter what I want. We work together. Nothing else can happen," Louis replied.

Zayn scoffed. “Fuck that. You should do what you want. Who gives a fuck if you work together?” 

“Our boss probably would, mate,” he reminded Zayn who looked unconvinced. "Dude, it's a college research job. No one cares." His tone became gentler as he continued. "It's okay to put yourself out there, Lou. Sounds like he likes you." Louis looked away and made a noncommittal noise. "It's been four years, Lou. You can't let that douchebag scare you out of any other relationship," Zayn said.

Louis' eyes flashed dangerously. "This isn't about that, Zayn. Drop it," he said shortly. Zayn shrugged and clapped him on the shoulder before mumbling something about philosophy reading and retreating to his room.

* * *

About an hour before practice, Louis' headache had faded slightly and he figured that he'd better go and check on Liam. There was no answer when he rapped on the door with two steaming mugs of tea. Louis waited for several seconds and then knocked again and cursed as one of the cups threatened to upend itself. “Li, it’s Louis,” he called. A moment later, Louis heard footsteps and the door opened a crack.

One of Liam’s brown eyes peaked out. “Lou, is it just you then?” he asked in a voice so quiet it was almost a whisper. Louis raised an eyebrow. “…yes,” he replied hesitantly. Liam opened the door another crack and looked furtively into the hallway. At this, Louis snorted and said, “Come off it, Li! Open the damn door and let me in!”

Liam smiled sheepishly at Louis and opened the door the rest of the way. “You’re right, sorry. Being an idiot,” he mumbled as he turned to collapse dramatically onto his bed. He rolled under the covers and burrowed his head into the pillow, then squirmed around to face Louis again.

Louis watched the whole display with an air of polite bewilderment. “Li. You know I love you,” he started. Liam scrunched his eyebrows and widened his eyes, causing Louis to narrow his eyes and raise a finger in warning. “Liam James Payne. Do not give me the fucking puppy dog face. I will throw my tea at you,” he said drily.

Liam sat up and rubbed a hand through his closely cropped hair. "I know, I’m sorry, Lou! It’s just…I’m so fucking confused about what happened at the pub yesterday!” Louis sank onto the edge of Liam’s bed. “Why don’t you tell me what happened? Now that you’re…” he trailed off. “Sober?” Liam finished. “Well, yeah,” Louis said.

 

Liam took a deep breath. “So we started dancing, and Lou, it was so amazing. Like, I thought that maybe I actually had a shot with him.  And I must be fucking crazy because there was this moment where I swear he was about to kiss me. It really felt like he was going to and I let myself hope because I’m a bleeding idiot.” Now Liam was speaking quickly, his cheeks flushed and his brows knitted in anger and confusion.

“So I kind of leaned in too, but then I felt him freeze and I opened my eyes and he was gaping at me like I had three heads. Then he just turned and ran. Like, he literally ran out of the fucking pub to get away from me.”

His story finished, Liam buried his head in his hands. “It’s fucking humiliating!” he moaned, his voice slightly muffled. “Hey, no it’s not,” Louis insisted, grabbing Liam’s arm. “It’s really not, Li,” he repeated.

Liam lifted his head. “Oh, really? It’s not? Ever had anyone be so disgusted by you that they ran away from you when you tried to snog them, Lou?” he asked bitterly. Louis paused. Fuck! He hated this! He wanted to shout the truth at Liam, tell him this wasn’t his fault. That Zayn wanted the same thing he did. God, he just wanted to shake some sense into both of them!

What he did instead was take a deep, calming breath and gently say, “I’m sure it wasn’t like that, Li. He wouldn’t have been dancing with you like that if he was disgusted by you. Maybe he’s just—.” He paused for a moment, searching for a word that felt truthful but vague. “Confused.”

Liam snorted. “Zayn’s never been confused about anything in his life! I’m the one who’s fucking confused!” he retorted angrily.

Louis was at a loss. He was stuck in the middle of this fucked-up mess and the only way he could fix it was by betraying the trust of one of his best friends. After a long sip of tea, Louis said, “I think we both know that Zayn’s not disgusted by you, Li. You’re best mates. Why don’t you talk to him about it?”

Liam shook his head violently. “Absolutely not. I’m not going to humiliate myself again.” Louis sighed, resigning himself to the fact that both of his friends were going to be stubborn prats about this.

* * *

Louis had never had to saw off his own toe with a butter knife before. But he imagined that it would be preferable to the practice that he had to endure that evening. To say that it was difficult was an understatement. To say that it was painful was also an understatement. Tormenting was more like it.

Louis paid tenfold for all the bad decisions he’d made the night before. By the time he was struggling through his eighth lap around the pitch, trying his best to ignore the feeling that he might puke his guts out, Louis had vowed to himself that he was never drinking again.

“Pick up the pace, Tomlinson! Are you gonna run like this against Liverpool tomorrow?” his coach bellowed. Louis shook his head, gritted his teeth, and willed his legs to move faster despite the screaming, protesting ache from his calf muscles.

The bright side was that he managed to go several hours without thinking about Harry. As soon as he climbed under the covers, however, he couldn’t get last night out of his head. At least he didn’t have to see Harry until Tuesday, he thought to himself right before he drifted off to sleep. Still, the idea of coming face to face with Harry after what had happened sent a flood of paralyzing nervousness and dread (along with a treacherous burst of arousal and excitement) pressing down on his chest, making him feel like he could hardly breathe.  Louis sighed and pummeled his pillow, burying his head underneath it and jamming his eyes shut, ordering himself to fall asleep and stop thinking about the way he could still feel Harry's hands ghosting over his entire body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUYS THIS WAS THE FIRST SMUT I'VE EVER WRITTEN OH GOD i hope you didn't hate it! buckle up, it's gonna be a bumpy ride from here on out!


	8. 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a lot of fun writing this one (mostly in coffee shops in Dublin, where I've been traveling) and I hope you enjoy :) the smut definitely continues, so get pumped ;)

Louis woke on his alarm’s second refrain and was relieved to find that a good night’s sleep had rid him of the last of the previous day's nasty hangover. He felt alive and excited and energetic, glad to have something besides Harry to focus on for once in the past 24 hours. 

Today was all about the match, about going out there and giving everything he had, devoting 100% of his energy to kicking Liverpool’s ass. He loved that about football. When he was on the pitch, everything else faded away and it felt like nothing could faze him. His world became confined to what was in between those two goalposts.

By the time he and Liam jogged onto the pitch an hour later, Louis was feeling good. They were going to beat Liverpool and everything was going to be alright. He might have school, two jobs, dysfunctional best mates, and Harry to worry about, but this match was going to be just fine. Then he’d figure the rest out too.

Louis and Liam spent half an hour running drills together before their other teammates started streaming onto the field. “G'morning, early birds!” crowed Ed when he spotted them. “Couple of coach’s pets!” Olly scoffed, jogging alongside them and stealing the ball from Liam. 

“Just trying to get our heads in the game,” Liam replied, stealing the ball back and deftly kicking it into one of the goals. “There you go, Payno!” Louis whooped clapping Liam on the shoulder as he jogged to retrieve the ball.

As he went through warmups, Louis was vaguely aware of the spectators making their way into the stands. He remembered Perrie had telling him that she was going to try and come out this week and, at this thought, he glanced up,searching for Perrie. But he was distracted by another familiar face. Harry’s face.

 

Harry was here. At Louis’ football game. Louis stopped mid-jog. He slammed his eyes shut and then opened them again, convinced he had just seen someone who looked a bit like Harry. But no, it was Harry, alright, looking better than anyone had the right to in a slouchy, navy blue jumper and grey beanie shoved over his curls.

Harry caught sight of him and gave him a toothy grin and dorky half-wave that made his stomach flip traitorously. 

Louis didn’t wave back. He turned on his heel and jogged away, trying to imagine anything more distracting than Harry fucking Styles—who had had Louis’ dick in his mouth the last time Louis had seen him—watching him play football. And nope, he had nothing. This was terrible. This was disastrous. This. Was Not. Happening.

He gritted his teeth, and told himself to think about anything other than Harry Styles. Of course,  not getting distracted was easier said than done. One minute, he’d be hyperaware of what was going on around him, perfectly in tune with his teammates and anticipating their every move. But the next moment, he’d lose focus and miss a pass or an opportunity to steal the ball.

“Lou, Olly’s been wide open for about a minute now!” Ed shouted angrily after Louis had kicked the ball out of bounds to avoid having it stolen by an opposing player.

After the third time this happened, Coach called for a time out and turned to Louis, saying, “What’s going on, Tomlinson? You’re hot and cold today. You’ve got 10 other blokes out there relying on you not to cock this up. You've got to focus.” 

Louis didn't let it show, but he was furious. He knew perfectly well why he couldn't concentrate. As much as he told himself that he was going to ignore Harry, he just couldn’t do it. Louis knew deep down that this was his own fault rather than Harry’s, but that didn’t stop him from blaming Harry. 

What in the hell was he doing here? Harry didn’t belong here. This was Louis’ place, the place where he could escape all of his other bullshit. Yet here Harry was, completely ruining the one thing that he wasn’t supposed to be able to touch.

* * *

Louis used all of that anger, misguided as it was, to fuel his performance. He poured every single ounce of frustration into the game, sprinting down the pitch full-tilt, kicking the ball as hard as he could, and concentrating on his other teammate’s positions with even more laser-focus than usual.

It was perhaps the best game Louis had ever played. Liam later told him that it had been almost scary to watch Louis play. “You were fucking ruthless, mate. I’ve never seen you like that before. Just like so intense and—I don’t know—cold, I guess.”

York absolutely swept with a score of 4-0. When the final whistle sounded, most of the team exploded in cheers. Not Louis, though. Now that the game was over, he had only one thing in mind. He jogged right past his teammates toward the stands, toward Harry. Louis slowed his pace to a power walk and strode right up to him.

 

Harry looked up and opened his mouth to speak. “What are you doing here?” Louis gritted out before Harry could say anything. Harry scrutinized him for a moment, watching Louis glare at him. “My best mate from Oxford has a brother on the team. Ed.” 

At that moment, Louis heard Ed’s voice booming behind him. “Harry! Glad you could make it, mate!” Ed jogged up to them and shook Harry’s hand then clapped him on the shoulder. “Me too! Great game! You all looked great out there!” Harry replied cheerfully. As he said the last sentence, his eyes flickered to Louis and twinkled impishly. Louis rolled his eyes, but his stomach did a little somersault nonetheless. 

“Thanks, man!” Ed replied. “How do you know two know each other?” he asked, looking between Louis and Harry in confusion. When Louis didn’t respond, Harry spoke. “I’m the teaching assistant for a class Louis’ taking. Bit of a teacher’s pet, aren’t you, Lou?” 

Louis scowled and looked away. “Whatever. I have to go,” he said gruffly. “I’ll see you later, Ed,” he said and turned away from the pair of them toward the locker room.

 

As he entered the blessedly empty locker room, Louis resisted the strong urge to bang his head against the one of the lockers. What was wrong with him? He knew that he was being completely irrational (not to mention very rude; his mum would be appalled). 

Whatever, he thought to himself angrily. He still hadn’t forgotten the way that Harry had yelled at him last week for something that hadn’t been even slightly his fault. And all he’d done to apologize was send some shitty text. And give him a pretty spectacular blowjob, Louis reminded himself. But that still didn’t undo what had happened, did it? Didn’t change the fact that Harry had acted like a complete ass as soon as things hadn’t gone his way. 

More than being mad at Harry though, Louis was mad at himself. He felt like a proper idiot for biting Harry’s head off, especially since Harry had actually had a perfectly reasonable explanation for being at the game.

This was exactly the reason that he needed to get over this stupid Harry thing as soon as possible. Louis liked feeling like he was in control of his life. And ever since he had met Harry, Louis had felt exactly the opposite. He was all over the place, and he felt like his life was in a state of total disarray.

For the five minutes that he stood under the steaming hot spray of the showerhead, Louis allowed himself to sulk and feel stupid. But by the time he switched off the water and stepped out of the shower, he had reached a decision. He was going to stop acting like a child. 

When he went into work on Monday, Louis was going to apologize to Harry for his behavior. He was also going to work on acting a little less mental, which started with being a little more honest, at least with himself.

The truth was that he was  really fucking hung up on Harry and he wasn’t satisfied with the way things had ended between them a few moments ago or the other night or after their row last week. 

He sighed and toweled off his damp hair, then shrugged into a hoodie and joggers. Right. He was going to go home and he was going to unplug for a while and tidy up his life a bit. Call his mum; do the dishes; clean up his rodo some laundry. That always made him feel better. He heaped his sweaty uniform into his gym bag and heaved it over his shoulder, then he headed back out toward the pitch.

* * *

When he got home, he powered off his phone and used his laptop to FaceTime his mum and sisters. It had been too long since he had called home, and he felt like a shit son for it. He usually made it a habit to call and catch up once a week, but with everything going on at school, he'd missed a few Skype sessions lately.

His mum picked up on the first ring and her face lit up when she saw Louis. “Hullo, BooBear!” 

Louis preened at the nickname. He would never admit it to his mates, but he loved his mum’s stupid pet names for him. “Hullo,” he smiled back. “Sorry it’s been a while. Lots going on here,” he apologized.

“I'll say! Was starting to think you’d forgotten my number!” his mother exclaimed dramatically. “I really am sorry, mum,” Louis said. “Lou, I’m joking, babes. You’re not the only drama queen in this family,” his mother smiled.

“How are you? The girls?” Louis asked her. His mother launched into a full update on Lottie’s latest boyfriend and a school project Phoebe was working on and Daisy’s football tryouts. Every so often, one of his sisters would walk into the kitchen and lean over his mum’s shoulder to say hello. 

After she’d caught Louis up on what was going on in Doncaster, his mum gave him a close once-over. “How are you, darling? You look—I dunno, tired. Stressed.” Louis frowned. “Yeah, there’s lots going on here. School and football and—stuff.” His mother quirked an eyebrow.

“Stuff?” she asked slyly. Louis rolled his eyes. His mum had a sixth sense about this kind of thing, it was almost scary. 

“Nothing,” he said innocently. She gave him a look that told him she was having none of it. He sighed. “There’s—God, I can’t believe I’m saying this. There’s a guy.” His mother’s eyes flashed triumphantly, but she said nothing, just nodded and waited for him to continue. 

“It’s—well, it’s all a little confusing and nothing’s really like—happening. But. Yeah. That’s been happening as well," he said in a rush.

Now his mother was looking at him tenderly, and when she spoke it was soft and a little concerned. “Lou, it’s okay to have feelings for someone. It can be a good thing, even.” 

Louis didn’t say anything, just nodded vaguely, then picked at a hangnail and chewed his lip until she changed the subject.

His mum eventually rang off, saying that she had to drive Daisy to the movies. Louis smiled to himself for a moment then set to work tidying his bedroom and the kitchen. 

An hour later, he flopped onto his bed and powered his phone back on. He had four missed calls. One from Liam, one from Ollie, one from Zayn. And one from Harry. Louis stared down at the screen for moment. Then he made a decision, entered his passcode, and pressed the phone to his ear. He thought he could feel the blood pounding in his ears as he waited. 

Harry answered on the third ring. “Louis,” he greeted him. “Hi,” Louis said, and then paused, waiting for Harry to explain why he had called. “I—how’s it going?” Harry asked. “You called,” Louis replied.

“Right. Yeah, that. I—could we talk?” he said breathlessly. Louis heard himself answer before he’d made the conscious decision to do so. “Yeah,” he said. He heard Harry exhale. “Great. Shall we—would you wanna come to my place?”

Louis’ stomach dropped to his knees and his heart started pounding. He knew very well that this was a terrible idea. But that didn’t stop him from immediately replying, “Yeah. Text me your address.” 

He hung up and took a deep breath. This was happening.He paced around his room once, twice, three times waiting for Harry's response. At last, his phone buzzed and he unlocked it on the second try, his hands a little shaky. 

Louis recognized the address. He had a friend who lived in that building, and it wasn’t far from his place. Louis slipped on his shoes, grabbed his wallet from his desk, and walked out the door before he could talk himself out of it.

* * *

The walk over to Harry’s place felt kind of like an out of body experience. It was raining, the fat droplets coming slowly but insistently and dampening Louis’ freshly-washed hair. He hardly noticed. He was buzzing, his brain overpowered by a potent cocktail of jittering nerves, icy fear, and intense desire. 

He was acutely aware of his heart fluttering madly in his chest like the wings of a hummingbird. It actually felt like his whole body was vibrating a bit, pulsing with the absurdity of what he was doing. 

After what seemed like both five seconds and five years, Louis found himself outside Harry’s building. He buzzed the correct number and waited. “Lou?” Harry’s deep voice came from the speaker. Louis pushed the button and replied, wincing at the panicked, oddly choked quality of his voice. “Yeah, s'me,” he croaked. 

The next moment, Harry had buzzed him in; then he was opening the door then he was walking up the stairs then he was outside Harry’s door. This was it. 

He would go in their and talk to Harry like a mature adult. A mature, adult conversation between two mature adults. Maturely. And adultly. God, he was fucked. He inhaled deeply, then let out the breath. 

He rapped on the door twice. Harry opened the door at once and Loiuis drank in the sight of him looking soft and slightly rumpled and a little sleepy, like he'd recently woken from a nap. God, Louis was so clearly fucked.

Harry was still wearing the black jeans and big jumper he’d had on that morning, but he was now barefoot and sans-beanie.

He was smiling at Louis in that big, honest way of his and the whole thing made him dizzy for a second. How could this person, who looked so delighted and cozy and fucking adorable right now, be the same guy who had said filthy things to him from the floor of that fucking broom cupboard?

"Please, come in,” Harry said politely, gesturing Louis followed Harry into his apartment and looked around with interest.

It was like stepping inside Harry’s brain. Cluttered but cozy, lived-in and dignified in an untidy kind of way. Most of the light came from the large, unshaded bay windows. As it was starting to properly storm, the room was dimly lit, just a weak stream of greyish light streaming through. An old leather sofa took up most of the space in the small living area, but there was also a wooden chest doubling as a coffee table and a small but overstuffed armchair.

And there were books everywhere. There was a huge bookshelf against one wall of the hallway; there were books heaped on the coffee table. There was a pile of books on the ground by the couch that stacked past its arm.

Harry, polite bugger that he was, shooed Louis to the sofa and insisted that he sit while he prepared tea. Louis busied himself by picking a book from the top of one of the piles and perusing it. Soon, he heard Harry returning with their drinks.

“Nice place. Suits you,” he said, setting down the book and smiling at Harry. He flushed. “Thanks. It’s not much, but I like it well enough.” He took a seat at the other end of the sofa and set his mug on the table, tucking his knees up to his chest. “So,” he said.

“So,” Louis replied, taking a sip of tea and looking right into Harry’s eyes. “You wanted to talk,” he said. Harry nodded and ran a hand through his curls. “I—well, I wanted to say I’m sorry for being an idiot the other day. I snapped at you and you didn’t do anything to deserve it and there’s no excuse for the way I acted. I’m really sorry, Lou.” 

He said all of this in a tone of deepest contrition, and he looked so remorseful that Louis could feel his resolve melting. But Harry wasn’t done. He took a breath and continued. “I feel terrible. Like, I love working together and I think you’re so good at what you do and I’m so sorry if I made you feel like—“ 

Louis cut him off. “Jesus, Harry, it’s not like you killed my dog or something, is it? You don’t have to—listen, it’s okay. Everyone loses their temper. God knows I do. We’re straight."

Harry smirked. “I’m not,” he replied cheekily. 

Louis rolled his eyes. “Shut up. Y’know what I mean. And listen,” he said, his voice getting more serious. “M’sorry about how I was this morning. It’s—you surprised me, turning up like that after—y’know. The other night."

At this, Harry's whole face split into a wicked grin. “Right. The other night.” Neither of them said anything for a very long moment.

Then, when Louis couldn’t stand the heavy silence hanging between them, he blurted out, “Yeah, I’ve been kind of confused about that? Like—it kind of felt like it came out of nowhere.”

Harry quirked an eyebrow. “Did it? Because I thought I’d made myself pretty clear over the last few weeks. Don’t know how I could have made it more obvious short of waving around a sign that said ‘I like you and I can’t stop thinking about you when I wank.” 

He said all of this easily, matter-of-factly, as if it cost him nothing. Louis gaped at him and then snorted in shocked laughter. “I—wow. Okay.” Harry chuckled and ran a hand through his hair again. 

“Jesus, now I’m talking about wanking. This is what I’m talking about, Lou. I feel like I have no idea what’s going to come out of my mouth when I’m around you. You make me crazy.” His eyes had darkened and he was looking at Louis in a way that was very, very dangerous.

* * *

 And then—God, Louis couldn’t even think about controlling himself when Harry was looking at him like that—he was leaning forward and his mouth was on Harry’s. Harry hummed happily and scooted closer, one hand coming up to cup Louis’ cheek and the other coming around to rest on the back of his neck. It was slower, more controlled than it had been the last time. Louis let himself get lost in the rhythm of Harry’s breathing and the feeling of Harry’s large, warm hands on his skin and the way that Harry smelled—a pleasant mix of lemon and pine and boy. All of the things he had been too drunk and desperate to appreciate a few nights ago. 

After a few minutes, however, things started getting more heated. Going slow was all well and good, but Louis could feel himself getting harder every time he and Harry’s tongues slid together, and it was starting to wind him up. 

When Louis tilted his head to suck gently on Harry’s earlobe, Harry whined and slipped one of his hands around Louis’ waist under his hoodie, pulling him closer. Then, Louis wasn’t even sure how or when it happened, but he realized he was in Harry’s lap, straddling him. From this new position, Louis could immediately feel that Harry was hard too. He grinned against Harry’s lips and made a shallow throw thrusting with his hips with enough force to make Harry hiss and arch hungrily up against him. 

Soon, he had both hands under Harry’s jumper, running his hands up Harry’s sides and marveling at how warm and soft Harry’s skin was. He preened and leaned into Louis’ touch. “Mmm, that feels so good, Lou,” he murmured, burying his nose in the hollow of Louis and inhaling, his breath tickling Louis' neck and making him giggle breathlessly and squirm against Harry. 

Harry made a low groaning noise and leaned in again, tracing his tongue over the seam of Louis’ lips and licking gently inside his mouth. He pulled back a little and nipped at Louis’ lower lip, not hard enough to actually hurt, but hard enough to make Louis gasp and break away in surprise. 

“Posh Oxford boys don’t kiss like that,” he murmured against Harry’s lips. Harry grinned and bit his bottom lip again. “Oh yes they fucking do,” he growled before recapturing Louis’ lips. And Louis had thought Harry couldn’t get any more attractive. Miracles never cease.

The next thing Louis knew, Harry was playing with the zipper of his hoodie, dragging it down and exposing the bare skin underneath, thumbing at his nipples as his chest was exposed. "Your skin, Lou," Harry murmured reverently, ducking down to mouth at Louis' collarbones. "Golden like caramel," he whispered before licking over one nipple and upwards, biting a mark at the tender patch of skin where Louis' shoulder met the dip of his neck. "Taste like caramel too," Harry rasped before returning to his neck. 

It was around this time that alarm bells started going off in Louis' head. He knew where this was headed, knew that there was no going back from what was about to happen. So even though it physically hurt him to do so, Louis pulled away and rested his forehead against Harry’s, breathing hard. 

 

“Harry, I—,” he started, but Harry didn’t let him finish. He leaned forward and kissed him hard, which took Louis’ breath away and rid his mind of all rational thought. “It doesn’t have to be anything, Lou,” Harry mumbled when he finally pulled away. “We can just be two people who work together and also happen to be sleeping together.” 

Louis considered that for a moment. H e wanted Harry so fucking bad he thought he might burst, and he was sick of denying himself. He was so tired of telling himself to get over it, because clearly that wasn’t happening any time soon. After a moment, he looked back at Harry and breathed, “Yeah?” 

Harry nodded vigorously, his nervous expression melting into a dopy grin. “Yeah. Happens all the time, I hear,” he breathed in Louis’ ear. “Well, maybe we could give that a go then,” Louis said slowly. “In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m pretty fucking attracted to you.” Harry beamed. “Yeah, I’d kind of guessed,” he said smugly.

But then, the smile vanished from his face, replaced with a small, concerned frown. “You—you’re sure though? I don’t want to like, push you to do anything you’re not comfortable with,” he said, rubbing slow circles on Louis’ back. 

“Harry. I want you so bad I think my dick might fall off. The last month has been fucking excruciating. I just—I don’t—do stuff like this,” he fumbled, then realized how that sounded. “I mean, not sex, I do that plenty. Well, not plenty, but—y’know.” Oh god, this wasn’t going well. He took a deep breath and continued. “It’s just like, with you it’s—different."

He felt so vulnerable, sitting there and watching Harry take this in. He had just laid out all his cards and the three seconds he waited for Harry’s response were breathless and agonizing. 

Understanding dawned on Harry’s face and he leaned forward and briefly joined their lips. “Different for me too, Lou,” he said once he’d pulled away. “But no pressure. It can be whatever you want,” he murmured, pausing to kiss the soft skin behind Louis’ ear. “Thank you,” Louis breathed, tilting his head back to give Harry better access to his neck. “Now,” he pulled away and more matter-of-factly, said, “Are you gonna fuck me or not, Styles?” Harry snorted. “Sir, yes sir!” he exclaimed.

He reached down and clutched Louis’ ass forcefully, leaning forward. “What’re you doing?” Louis asked him. “M’taking you to bed,” Harry grunted, standing up from the couch and taking Louis with him as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

“God, why is that so fucking hot?” Louis said in a high rasp. He kissed Harry bruisingly and tangled a hand in his hair. Harry groaned and backed Louis against a wall. “Gonna make me drop you, Lou,” he laughed shakily. “You better not,” Louis warned. “My coach will personally come here and kick your ass if I can’t play in the championships.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t deprive the world of the chance to see you in those little fucking shorts. Honestly, a monument should be built dedicated to the way your ass looks in those things. Jesus. I was hard for an hour and a half watching you play this morning,” Harry growled. Louis tightened his thighs around Harry’s midsection and bucked his hips, then joined their lips again. 

“Fuck, Harry," Louis whined. “S’true, Lou. You’re fucking gorgeous. Feel so lucky that I get to do this.” He backed up and nudged a door open with his hip. 

 

Harry’s bedroom was sparsely furnished and decorated. A king size bed with a plush white duvet took up most of the space in the room. There was a bedside table and a dresser with several framed photos—Harry in his Oxford robes, Harry at the top of a mountain somewhere, Harry grinning with his arms wrapped around two women with his same green eyes and dimples—and several curios which had obviously come from his travels. The walls were bare, save for a large, beautiful painting that showed a dreary but terribly romantic cityscape in muted grey tones. Very Harry. 

A newspaper and several books lay open and spread out over the bed. Harry frowned and deposited Louis at the corner of the bed. “Just gotta clear this off,” he said, carelessly tossing everything off the bed. “I like that painting,” Louis remarked as Harry straightened up. Harry glanced at it, a smile ghosting his lips. “Thank you. My friend Nick painted it for me.” Louis smirked. “Look at you with your artist friend. Aren’t we bohemian?”

“Shut up,” Harry grinned and crossed the room to stand where Louis was kneeling, pulling him up a bit so they were almost level. He wrapped his arms around Louis and kissed him long and slow. Louis moaned softly into Harry’s mouth and pulled Harry’s jumper up over his hips, desperate for contact with his bare skin. Harry happily obliged, pulling away to tug the shirt over his head and let it fall to the floor. Louis stared, his mouth slack. 

He had known that Harry had tattoos, had eagerly taken note every time his clothing revealed slivers of the ink underneath. But it was still a bit of a shock to see just how many there were, spread out over Harry’s arms and his chest. In particular, a large black and white butterfly on Harry’s sternum caught Louis’ attention. “This,” Louis murmured, tracing the butterfly with his finger, “is just fucking indecent, Harold.” Harry hummed at the tickling sensation of Louis’ light, teasing touch. “Honestly. You should wear no clothes, like ever,” Louis said, ducking his head to lick up Harry’s sternum and then over one of his nipples.

“L—likewise,” Harry stuttered, reaching over to pull Louis’ hoodie over his head.  Harry’s hands reached behind Louis to run over the lean, rolling muscles there. Soon, though, his hands were venturing downwards, down Louis’ sides and then his hips, coming to rest on the tops of his thighs as their lips tangled together.Then Harry shifted one of his hands to the bulge in the front of Louis’ joggers, making him gasp. 

Harry smirked and ground the heel of his hand gently over the layer of clothing covering Louis’ now-obviously hard dick.

“Harry fucking Styles,” Louis panted between gritted teeth. “If you don’t stop being such a fucking tease I’m going to—.” Harry laughed and laced his fingers on the waistband of Louis’ sweats. “Shh, gonna take care of you. Make you feel so good," Harry murmured, making Louis flush as he shimmied out of his joggers, his pants coming down along with them.

Harry licked his palm and started to slowly jerk him, never looking away from his face. Then he smiled broadly, pressed a kiss to the corner of hips, and ducked down to take Louis in his mouth.

Louis stopped him, reaching a hand into his hair and tugging gently. “God, Harold," he said breathlessly. "Don’t be such a dick hog. Let someone else get a little action, eh?” Harry’s burst of laughter was quickly replaced by a sharp inhalation as Louis sat up and pushed Harry back on the bed and began licking his way down Harry’s abdomen to his hipbones.

“I—“ Louis started, kissing one of the fig leaves that was tattooed there. “Like—.” He kissed the other one. “These,” he finished, sucking hard enough to leave a mark. 

He slowly unbuttoned Harry’s jeans and drug them down his long legs, grunting with the effort. “You might try some looser jeans,” he suggested. Harry snickered and replied, “You haven't seemed to mind while you've been staring at my bum for the past six weeks.” Louis couldn’t exactly deny it, so he just shrugged and directed his attention to the straining fabric at the front of Harry’s tiny black briefs.

 

He ran his hand over the outline of Harry’s cock and grinned, leaning forward to whisper throatily in Harry’s ear. “God, you’re big. I’m gonna fucking enjoy this, Harry.”

Harry moaned and bucked his hips at Louis’ words. Louis moved his head back down and ghosted his mouth over the fabric, breathing hotly against his hard cock. “Who’s teasing now?” Harry asked breathlessly. “Oh, this is payback,” Louis informed him smugly. 

Then, without any more warning, he quickly tugged down Harry’s pants and took him several inches into his mouth, sucking hard. Harry threw his head back and slid the fingers of one hand into Louis’ hair. “Jesus Christ, Lou. Mm, God that’s good,” he panted as Louis pulled off and licked Harry base to head, slow and sloppy.

Louis took Harry back into his mouth as deep as he could go, his cheeks hollowing out as he looked up at Harry, his eyes watering. Harry let out a strangled moan sound when their eyes met and his hips jerked involuntarily, making Louis gag against his cock and pull off a bit. “S—sorry,” Harry said quickly. “No, do it again,” Louis replied, his voice hoarse and raspy. “Fuck my face, Harry,” he said, taking a breath and taking Harry all the way down, feeling him hit the back of his throat.

Harry, who had a hand behind his head, turned his face and bit the soft underside of his bicep to swallow a loud groan. But a moment later, he shook his head. “N—no. Don’t wanna come from your mouth. Need to fuck you,” he said, pulling Louis up and kissing him with a new sense of urgency.

“Turn around,” he rasped. Louis happily obliged, savoring the feeling of Harry’s large hands on his shoulder-blades, pushing him into the bed.

“Gonna make you come on my cock, Lou,” Harry purred in his ear, taking the fleshy skin of Louis’ earlobe between his teeth and lining up their hips that Harry's cock slipped between his cheeks, the head of it ghosting against Louis" hole. 

Harry reached with one fumbling hand into a drawer of his bedside table and pulled out lube and a condom. Louis heard the bottle click open, but he wasn’t too focused on that because Harry had leaned forward and attached his mouth to the side of Louis’ neck.

“Gonna fuck me hard?” Louis panted. “Yeah. So fucking good. Gonna make you scream my name so loud my neighbors’ll complain.” As he said this, he spread Louis’ asscheeks apart with one hand and slid a lube-slicked finger between them. Louis hissed at the sudden cold, wet sensation.

Slowly, carefully, Harry slid a finger inside and pushed to Louis’ rim. Louis moaned and bucked against Harry’s finger, taking it deeper. A moment later, Harry had added a second, pushing deeper and hitting a spot that made Louis gasp and reach behind him to grab one of Harry’s biceps. “Shh,” Harry soothed, rubbing his back as he slid in a third finger. “God, you’re tight, Lou. Gonna feel so good,” he said silkily, kissing between Louis’ shoulder-blades and speeding up the motion of his fingers thrusting. 

After a few moments, Louis turned his head to face Harry and mashed their lips together hungrily. “M’ready,” he announced once he pulled away. Harry’s eyes gleamed with excitement. “Y’sure?” he asked. Louis nodded eagerly. “Hundred percent. Please. Now.” Harry’s grin widened. He pumped his fingers a couple more times before removing them carefully, Louis wincing slightly at the sudden emptiness. Then Harry got on his knees behind Louis and lined his cock up against Louis’ ass. He rested there for a moment that stretched on for about a century. 

When he felt like he might pass out from the anticipation of it, Louis rolled his hips backwards impatiently and whined, “What’s the hold up?”

He felt one of Harry’s hands tangling in his hair. “You ready, baby? Ready for me to fuck you?” he asked throatily. “Please. Fucking wreck me, Harry,” Louis replied in a breathy moan.

At Louis’ words, something hardened in Harry’s face. His jaw set, making it look even more defined than usual and his eyes flickered darkly, his pupils blown. He grabbed Louis’ hipbone hard enough to leave a bruise and surged forward, thrusting hard into Louis. Louis gasped at the sudden, burning, overwhelming sensation. “That okay?” Harry asked through gritted teeth. “Mm, fuck, keep going,” Louis managed.

Harry loosened his grip on either side of Louis’ hips. He rubbed his thumbs up and down Louis’ sides reverently as Louis ground his hips back filthily, taking Harry deeper inside him. He reached around and traced his fingers down Louis’ belly, resting on the flexed muscles of his abdomen. “God, Lou. Feel so good. Look so good,” he gritted out as he thrust back into Louis.

Soon, they had found a rhythm, hard and fast and fucking dirty. Louis was fucking overwhelmed by all of it, by Harry’s cock inside him and his hands, one of them flying over Louis’ cock and the other running up and down his body—tweaking a nipple or gripping his ass or stroking his back.

“Ngh, Harry, God. Fuck,” Louis cried as he felt that almost unbearable tingling building up in the bottom of his belly. Harry answered with a low groan against the side of neck. “Not gonna last much longer, Lou,” he murmured as Louis rasped “M’bout to come.” Harry thrust harder than before, then he pulled Louis up, gripping his chin and titling his head to the side so that he could mash their lips together as he pulled out and thrusted back in. 

Louis moaned Harry’s name into his mouth as he spilled over his rapidly-jerking hand. Harry was just a few seconds behind him, his whole body tensing up as he arched his back and thrust frantically. “F—fuck. Lou. Uhh, Lou, God,” he panted. 

Both of them lay there in silence for a few moments, Harry pretty much collapsed on top of Louis. The only noise on the room was the pattering of the rain against the window and the sound of their still-labored breaths. At last, slowly, gingerly, Harry pulled out, rubbing a soothing circle on Louis’ hip as he did so. “Sorry,” he winced as Louis made a weak whining noise. 

* * *

Louis flopped over from beneath Harry and onto the bed. "That," he said, still out of breath, "has got to be against the rules of our academic and professional relationship.” 

"S'not," Harry mumbled, reaching over to brush a stray strand of hair out Louis' face and grinning sheepishly. "What? What do you mean? How do you know?" Louis asked, sitting up. 

"I checked," he said quietly. "After that first class." Louis burst out in stunned laughter. "How did you check?" he asked. "You didn’t—" he suddenly looked horrorstruck. "You didn't ask Coleman, did you?!"

Harry scowled at him. "Don't be stupid," he said witheringly. "Of course I didn’t. I—well, there are some other PhD’s assisting in undergraduate classes, and I kind of asked around. Like, subtly, of course.” Louis rolled his eyes at that. “And—uh—there’s actually—I found a student conduct manual and—uh, yeah apparently it’s not technically against any rule since I don't have anything to do with grading in that class.” He mumbled the last few words, avoiding Louis’ gaze.

Louis roared with laughter. “You saucy minx!” he cackled. “And here I thought I was gonna get fired and kicked off my football team!”

Harry frowned. “I wouldn’t do anything that could get you in trouble, Lou,” he murmured, pressing a light kiss to Louis’ shoulder-blade and making him hum in satisfaction and settle into a more comfortable position in the crook of Harry’s arm.

 

Then Louis’ eyes shot open and he remembered what he and Harry had agreed just before the mind-blowing sex that had knocked everything else out of Louis’ brain. Two people who work together and just happen to be sleeping together. Right. He was pretty sure that cuddling didn’t fall under that description, as as nice as it felt to be pressed against Harry’s warm body.

He pushed himself into a sitting position and swung his legs out of the bed. “Right. Well, I’d better go,” he said matter-of-factly.

Harry propped himself up on one elbow. “You sure? You don’t have to—y’know—go right away. Are you hungry?” Louis turned his face away from Harry, because if he looked into those wide green eyes for another moment, he knew he’d never be able to leave this bed.

“Nah, I’m good. Got a lot of work to do,” he mumbled, pulling on his pants and scanning the room for his joggers. “Right. Of course,” Harry said brightly. Louis heard him climbing off the bed and felt him wrap his arms around Louis’ middle a moment later, resting his head on Louis’ shoulder. “I’ll walk you downstairs. Just let me get dressed,” he murmured against Louis’ neck. “N-no, that’s okay,” Louis stuttered, clearing his throat before going on. “Besides, it’s raining. No need for you to get all wet.” Harry nodded. “Okay,” he said, disentangling himself from Louis. 

Louis finished dressing and turned to face Harry, grabbing his arm and pulling him in for a lingering kiss. “I—this was fun,” he said lamely. “I’ll see you around.” Harry smirked. “See you in class."

Louis groaned and buried his head in Harry’s chest. “Jesus, don’t tell me this is going to be awkward.” Harry laughed. “Doesn’t have to be. As long as it’s not awkward for you to know that I’ll be thinking about your dick in my mouth the whole time.” Louis gasped and pushed Harry away playfully. “My teacher is a pervert!” he yelled.

"Yeah, yeah,” Harry said, rolling his eyes and reaching out to smack Louis' bum as he turned to leave the bedroom.

 

On his walk back to the flat, Louis tried not to think too hard about what this meant. It was just sex. Harry had said it himself. They were two people who worked together and also happened to be sleeping together. No big deal. 

That wasn’t against the rules. Louis could do that. He burrowed deeper under his covers, beaming  at the pleasant warmth blossoming in his chest at the thought of Harry’s smile and his eyes and his hands. 

In other words, yes, Louis knew that he was hurtling headlong toward disaster. He knew that he was rapidly approaching the point of no return. But he also knew that that wasn’t about to stop him.


	9. 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guess who just wrote an entire chapter in 24 hours? made the most of my flight back from ireland and wrote like a madwoman, hope you like :)

Over the next several weeks, Louis still acutely felt the chaos of having so much heaped on his plate. As a matter of fact, now he had even less time to get everything done because, as it turns out, the whole “working together and sleeping together” arrangement he had with Harry was a pretty time-consuming one. Especially since Louis was insatiable and Harry was, if anything, worse. After that first Saturday afternoon, Harry would text Louis or vice versa a few times a week and inevitably, Louis would appear on Harry’s doorstep and in his bed.

Before, the frenetic, nonstop activity had been making Louis crazy. But now it kept him buzzing, like there was always a current of adrenaline racing through his blood and keeping him on top of everything. Coleman pulled him aside to say that his research was extremely impressive for an undergraduate; Kathy told him that he had a new spring in his step when he was at the shop;Coach had remarked that he’d never seen Louis so motivated on the field.“Eating your Wheaties, eh, Tomlinson?” he had asked before patting him on the back and saying, “Keep up the good work.” Whenever something like this happened, Louis had to suppress a huge smirk, because he knew exactly what accounted for the change, and it had nothing to do with his choice of breakfast.

Louis was also a little surprised to discover that the new side of his and Harry’s relationship didn’t change things too much between them at work or in class. Granted, t here was the occasional make-out in the room that Coleman had booked for them to use in the history building. But honestly, Louis thought that was unavoidable given how cramped the room was and how truly, madly attractive Harry was at all times. 

For the most part, however, they still worked well together and managed to stay on task during the majority of their research sessions. Louis even thought that they maintained the illusion of purely platonic professionalism fairly well. 

 

Perrie drily informed him that this was utter bullshit as they were walking out of class one day. “I hope you two gits aren’t laboring under the pretense that you’re fooling anyone,” she said as the pair of them passed Harry and he gave Louis a look that made Louis’ stomach tighten and his toes curl. Louis looked up and sputtered, “What? I—I have no idea what you’re talking about,” with as much dignity as he could muster. 

At that, Perrie actually burst out laughing. “That was pathetic,” she said. “Anyways, I’m pretty sure I saw him doodling your name in his notebook the other day. And the way you look at him when you think he’s not watching—Honestly, you two are disgusting.” Louis rolled his eyes and murmured, “Shut up.” She just shook her head and continued. “Niall says he never stops talking about you. Says it’s right annoying.”

“Yeah, right. Bugger off, Pez,” he said airily. But her words stuck with him as he changed and set off for his shift at Blackwell’s that afternoon. The idea of Harry talking about him to his friends made Louis feel several emotions that pulled him in a couple different directions. On one hand, there was a strong shot of airy, fluttering giddiness. Because if Harry was talking about him, it meant that Harry was thinking about him. And seeing as how Harry was seldom far from the front of Louis’ mind, this was very good news to him.

But on the other hand, it sent a jolt of something dark and foreboding (apprehension? fear?) into his gut. Because Harry talking about him made what they had solid and real, and it made Louis question exactly what it was that they had. And that was something that Louis tried his hardest to avoid thinking about, because it meant acknowledging that he was breaking all of the rules he had set for himself.

He was snapped out of his reverie by a loud buzzing that turned out to be his phone vibrating against the counter where he’d set it. A text from Harry. “It’s been almost a week. Dying a little bit. Come over tonight?” Louis grimaced. As much as he would have loved to spend a few hours practicing his new favorite method of stress relief, he still had a dauntingly large economic problem set to do and he knew that it would be blatantly irresponsible to blow off an assignment so close to the deadline. 

His frown deepened as he typed out a response. “I wish but I’ve got practice and a p-set and you’re very distracting.” He finished the message with a wink and a frowning emoji. “One of my best traits I like to think. No worries. This weekend maybe?” was Harry’s reply. Louis grinned. “Sooner than that, I hope. Miss your smart mouth xx.” Then he shoved his phone back in his pocket and directed his attention to a mum and young child who had just entered the store. “What can I help you with today, love?” he beamed at the little girl.

* * *

 By 8 o’clock that evening, Louis had practiced, showered, and was just putting the finishing touches on his econ assignment. One of his classes had been cancelled and he was able to start the p-set earlier than he’d anticipated. His first thought was that hopefully Harry was still free. 

Louis pulled up Harry’s contact info and put the phone to his ear with one hand as he packed his books into his bag with the other. “Hi, Lou.” Harry’s deep, slow voice put an involuntary grin on his face. “I ended up finishing all my work,” he told Harry brightly. “Any chance you’re home and horny? M’dying to get my hands on you,” he said in a lower tone. Louis heard Harry clear his throat and say something that sounded like “It’s Lou,” and the murmur of another voice in the background.

The next moment, he heard Harry’s voice louder and more clearly. “I—that sounds amazing, but—uh.” But. Louis’ heart sank. “You’ve got other plans,” Louis finished his sentence. “No worries!” he said in a way that he hoped was bright but nonchalant. “Niall ended up coming over for a movie and pizza,” Harry said apologetically. “You wouldn’t—you wouldn’t want to join us, would you?” he asked cautiously. “Then you could stay after and…” He trailed off, his voice a little throaty and suggestive.

Louis should have said no. He definitely should have politely refused and told Harry that they could just figure out another time later that week. But it had been almost a week since he had seen Harry for more than just class, where they couldn’t even talk, let alone do any of the other things they usually did. Plus, when Harry’s voice got all low like that it did things that addled Louis’ brain.

So before he had stopped to consider the fact that it was a terrible idea to start meeting Harry’s friends and going to his place for fucking movie nights, Louis was saying, “Yeah, okay. I’ll be over in 15.” There was a brief silence. Then Harry’s voice came through the phone, and Louis could practically hear him beaming. “Really? I mean—great! Yeah, great! See you soon, Lou.”

He rung off and buried his head in his hands. “Why are you like this?” he asked himself aloud. Zayn, who was passing by his door on the way to the bathroom poked his head inside. “Y’know Lou, I ask myself that question all the time.” Louis looked up at him miserably. “I’m so fucking weak. It’s not even funny.” Zayn studied him, head cocked to the side. “Harry?” he guessed. Louis nodded, looking up at Zayn pathetically.

Seeing the look on his face, Zayn’s expression darkened. “Honestly, Lou. It’s hard to feel sorry for someone who’s actually fucking the bloke they fancy,” he said. His tone was level, but there was a flash of anger and resentment in his eyes that made Louis flinch.

“Well if you would actually listen to my advice for once maybe you could be too,” Louis shot back. “I told you to talk to him, mate,” he added more gently, because now Zayn was looking wounded and fixing Louis with The Smolder and okay, Louis was only human.

“I—no. I can’t. It’s not that simple,” Zayn muttered. “See you around, Lou,” he said brusquely, sighing heavily as he exited the room. On his walk over to Harry’s flat, Louis stewed and worried. He was irritated and a little bit hurt by Zayn’s comment. Who did he think he was, acting like Louis’ problems didn’t matter just because they were different from his? It wasn’t his fault that his two best friends had their heads buried in the sand. Matter of fact, he was doing his best to dig them out. 

Zayn should be thanking him, not biting off his head. And this wasn’t the first time that Zayn had been icy to him over the last couple of weeks. It seemed like Zayn didn’t have any patience with Louis or any desire to hear about his problems lately. He hadn’t been the best mate and Louis had chalked it up to stress, but this latest incident made it clear that, for whatever reason, Zayn was upset with him. Which was ridiculous and extremely frustrating.

But at the same time, his dominant emotion was concern. Zayn only snapped off like that when he was really struggling. The past several weeks had only worsened matters between Liam and Zayn. Despite Louis’ pleas to both of them to just address the elephant in the room, neither of them was willing to do so. As a result, all of their interactions were stilted and forced and terribly awkward. Louis hated it. He wish he knew how to make things better, wished that he could have both of his friends back. 

 

By the time he buzzed into Harry’s building and knocked on his door, Louis was feeling thoroughly disheartened, his good mood from finishing his work early having completely evaporated. Harry opened the door with a wide grin that slipped off his face as soon as he saw Louis’ expression. “Lou. What’s wrong? Why do you look sad?” he asked, stepping out into the hall and closing the door behind them. 

“It’s noth—“ Louis started, but Harry cut him off, taking a step toward him and putting a hand on his arm. “It’s not nothing, Louis. What’s the matter?” Louis stared at Harry for a moment, at his green eyes wrinkled and his eyebrows knit in concern.

His puppy dog face was even better than Liam’s, Louis thought to himself before sighing and launching into a long explanation—how tense his interactions with Zayn had been lately, how much the whole Liam and Zayn thing had been bothering him, how he was worried that this was going to ruin Liam and Zayn’s friendship, as well as his relationships with both of them.

“I have zero fucking clue what to do and I feel like such a shitty friend for not being able to help them,” he finished, his face crumpling into an expression of defeat. Harry closed the space between them, reaching out his arms and pulling Louis into his broad chest. He was warm and he smelled like clean laundry and the expensive, organic lemony shampoo that he used. 

For several long moments, Louis let himself enjoy how safe and secure he felt like this. But then he remembered that no feelings means no tender, loving embraces, particularly outside the bedroom. 

So he pulled away, clearing his throat and saying “Sorry to unload on you like that.” Harry smiled gently and rubbed Louis’ back. “You don’t have to apologize. And don’t say that you’re a shitty friend. We both know it’s not true. They’re lucky to have you.” Louis smiled weakly and let Harry pull him into another hug (because, as he’d previously established, Louis was weak as hell).

After a moment, Harry leaned his face to Louis’ ear and said, “Missed you,” in a gravelly voice that suddenly made Louis feel markedly less sappy. He tilted his head up to look Harry in the eyes. “Did you now?” Harry grinned lazily and nodded, leaning down to kiss Louis. And wow, Louis had missed this which was odd considering it had been less than a week. Louis quickly parted his lips and slipped his tongue in Harry’s mouth, making him groan and back Louis against the door.

“Y—you have company, Harold. Being rude,” Louis murmured after a minute or so. “Not company. Just Niall,” Harry rasped, leaning down for a final kiss before sighing and pulling away and reaching for the doorknob. He turned it and Louis heard it rattle fruitlessly.

 

“Well, I’ve locked us out of my flat,” Harry grinned sheepishly and rapped on the door. “Niall,” he called. “It’s me. Let us in!” Louis heard footsteps bounding to the door, then it was thrown open by the wiry blonde man that Louis immediately recognized as Niall. He grinned broadly at both of them. “Wanted a little privacy, eh?” he asked Harry, wiggling his eyebrows and winking conspiratorially. “Shut up, Niall,” Harry said with a small frown, but Louis chuckled. He was both slightly taken aback and amused by Niall’s ballsiness in front of a perfect stranger. 

“I’m Louis,” Louis said, extending his hand after they’d all stepped back into the flat. “I know who you are, mate!” Niall exclaimed, batting aside Louis’ outstretched hand and pulling him into a hug. “We met at the pub a while back, remember? Couldn’t very well forget you after that, could I? Not with Harry talkin’ about you non-stop,” he said, smirking mischievously at Harry. “Niall. Shut up,” Harry repeated. Louis laughed again. He appreciated the fact that Harry’s best friend seemed to take great pleasure in taking the piss out of him. 

“Yeah, he’s pretty obsessed with me, huh?” Louis asked haughtily. Niall roared with laughter. “I like this one, Haz!” he exclaimed as he flopped onto the couch and picked up a slice of pizza, looking at it with something like reverence before taking a huge bite. “He’s funny,” Niall concluded, his mouth stuffed full of food. 

“So that’s Niall,” Harry said resignedly. “He’s—well, I don’t really know why I’m friends with him, but I am.” Niall laughed again and tackled Harry onto the couch. “Oh, Hazza! You love me for my body! We all know it!” he cried dramatically. “Get off me, you madman!” Harry said, struggling to free himself from Niall’s grasp. 

He was cackling and grinning hugely and the whole thing made Louis feel a sudden surge of affection for Harry. Sometimes, like right now, he thought his chest might burst with the amount of fondness he felt for Harry. It was a big problem, so naturally, Louis ignored it most of the time. But watching Harry wrestling on the couch like a 5-year old, his long limbs flailing and his hair all askew, Louis could hardly stand how much he wanted to kiss the lips off of him.

 

“Pizza, Lou?” Harry asked once he’d managed to break free. Louis snapped out of his contemplation. “Yes, please!” he said, slipping off his shoes by the door and walking further into the living room to join them. He perched himself beside Harry on the couch, tucking his feet under the backs of his legs, which made Harry grin and scoot closer. “Here, take a beer,” he said, grabbing one off the coffee table and tossing it to Louis. He thanked Harry and took a grateful swig.

“So. What are we watching?” he asked once he’d settled in. “The King’s Speech,” Harry replied at the same time Niall said “Wedding Crashers.” Harry glowered at Niall. “No. Never again, Ni. I’ve watched that terrible movie with you like three times and I’m not doing it again. I refuse.” Niall scoffed. “Wedding Crashers is not terrible, mate. It’s a classic!” They started bickering as Louis spectated and ate his pizza.

Finally, Harry turned to Louis and said, “We’ll let the guest decide,” in a smug voice. “Lou? What do you say?” Louis looked at the two of them staring at him expectantly. “Definitely Wedding Crashers,” Louis said authoritatively. Great film, that.” Niall cackled triumphantly and pumped a fist in the air as Harry gave him a betrayed pout. “That seals it. We’re keeping him,” Niall said, reaching across the couch to high-five Louis.

 

The three of them spent the next two hours sprawled across the couch drinking beer and eating too much pizza and watching the movie on Harry’s laptop (because Harry, being Harry, didn’t own a television). Niall laughed too loud at all the jokes; Harry frequently reminded everyone that he found the whole thing childish and decidedly unfunny; Louis let himself enjoy the beer buzz and the warmth of Harry’s body pressed against his. 

And really, he didn’t know why he’d made such a fuss about this earlier. This was no big deal, he told himself as Harry reached over to absentmindedly doodle circles on Louis’ back through the thin fabric of his tshirt.

“So—you and Perrie, huh?” Louis asked Niall as the credits were rolling, nibbling on one of his discarded pizza crusts. “Yep,” Niall grinned, popping the p. “Hell of a girl, isn’t she?” Niall said happily. “Not sure what she sees in me, but I’m not asking questions.” Louis chuckled. “Pez is the best,” he said. Now that he had met Niall, he totally understood why Perrie liked him. He was loud and enthusiastic and he didn’t give a fuck what anyone thought about him. It made total sense. 

Louis and Niall chatted for another 20 minutes or so, about football (Niall loved football, even though he insisted he would always choose Dublin’s Boys in the Blue over any English team) and both of their classes (Niall was training to become a physical therapist) and the best late night eateries in town (Louis quickly gathered that Niall was quite food enthusiast). 

While they were talking, Louis noticed Harry becoming increasingly restless and touchy. He had thrown an arm over Louis’ shoulder and he was running slow, teasing lines up and down his arm. One of Harry’s legs was jiggling up and down frenetically, and he periodically chewed his bottom lip.

Finally, he gave Niall a slightly pointed glance and “It’s getting pretty late, Ni. Don’t you have class in the morning?” Niall looked back at Harry, registered the expression on his face, and grinned impishly. “Looks like I’m being dismissed,” he said loftily to Louis. “Honestly, some people are so rude,” before heaving himself up from the sofa. Harry rolled his eyes. “Shut up,” he said.

“Good to properly meet you, man,” Niall said to Louis, clapping him on the back and turning to leave. “I’ll walk you out,” Harry said, rising from the couch. “Yeah yeah, okay,” Niall replied. Harry looked at Louis and mouthed “Be right back.” Then both men strode out of the room, leaving Louis by himself on the couch.

Harry reappeared a minute later and Louis took a moment to admire how truly beautiful he looked—cheeks rosy red from the beers they’d been drinking, green eyes gleaming, dimples popped from the cheeky grin he was fixing Louis with. “C’mere,” Louis said, patting the spot beside him on the couch.

Harry bounded over and sunk into Louis, laying his head on Louis’ shoulder and nuzzling into the spot behind Louis’ right ear, tracing the skin there with his lips. “I think Niall likes you more than he likes me,” Harry murmured. “He’s a good bloke,” Louis replied, his voice going high snd breathy at the end because Harry had started kneading the muscles in his shoulders. He groaned. “God, you’re good at that,” he said breathlessly as Harry massaged harder. “I like making you make those noises,” Harry grinned. “And you’re all wound up. He pressed a light kiss to the back of Louis’ neck. “Wanna make you feel good. What can I do to make you feel good?”

“Y’know, funny you should ask,” Louis smirked, reaching out to unbutton Harry’s jeans and slip his hand inside. “Because I think you’ve got just the thing to help me out.” Harry’s breathing hitched and he sidled closer, lacing an arm around Louis neck. “Is that so? Well, it’s your lucky day because I’m more than happy to be of assistance.” 

 

Leaving Harry’s bed that night was an almost herculean feat. It was late and Louis was exhausted and Harry was so warm and cuddly that Louis felt he probably could have stayed there for about a year. But rules were rules and weak as Louis was, he knew that staying over was a bridge too far. When he felt Louis sliding out of the bed, Harry frowned and flopped over, making grabby hands at Louis. “Stay for a bit. You’re warm,” he mumbled sleepily.

“Can’t. I took a shift at the shop tomorrow morning,” he replied reluctantly. Harry propped himself into a sitting position against the pillows and nodded. Louis could feel Harry’s eyes on him as he dressed. Finally, he turned to face him as he pulled his socks on. “What is it?” he asked. “What’s what?” Harry asked shiftily. “You were staring at me,” Louis insisted. Harry grinned bashfully and absently traced the butterfly on his chest. “Not staring. Just looking. You’re very pretty, you know” he mumbled in a deep drawl that made Louis’ stomach do a little flip. He ignored it and replied in mock outrage, “Take that back, Styles! I am not pretty. I’m handsome! Manly! Formidable!” 

“I’m glad you came tonight,” Harry told him, fixing him with that intensely earnest look of his that always made Louis feel a bit short of breath. “I—“ Louis started, feeling his heart pound. “I should go,” he blurted out, rising from his perch on the edge of the bed. He turned at the door and found Harry still looking at him searchingly, his expression laced with the smallest trace of disappointment.

“I’m glad, too,” he told Harry with a sly smile that made Harry beam. Then he turned on his heel and let himself out of Harry’s flat, trying not to think about the warmth curling in the pit of his stomach. Because that was definitely just the sex endorphins. No doubt about it. It certainly had nothing to do with how comfortable he had felt curled up next to Harry on the couch all evening, talking and laughing with he and his friend. Nope. Not at all.

* * *

The next morning, the first thing that Louis was aware of was the strong odor of sausage somewhere close by. He sniffed the air longingly and cracked an eye open. His heart stopped when he saw the silhouette of a person at the foot of his bed. He jolted halfway out of bed and swore before taking a deep breath of relief when he saw that it was just Zayn standing there holding the stolen Costa tray, which Louis could see was loaded with food. “Jesus, Zayn!” he exclaimed, clutching his chest. “You can’t very well sneak up on someone when they’re sleeping. You scared the shit out of me!” Zayn gave a small, apologetic grin. “Sorry, Lou. Couldn’t knock. Hands were full,” he said, nodding down at the tray. “What is that, anyway?” Louis asked, sitting up the rest of the way. 

“Breakfast. Just a way of saying I’m sorry for being a prat these past few days,” Zayn shrugged. “And I am. Really sorry, Lou. Shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. S’not your fault I’m a coward.” Louis fixed his friend with a warm, albeit slightly sleepy smile. “You’re not upset with me?” Louis asked. Zayn shook his head vigorously and set the tray down on the table so he could sink onto the edge of Louis’ bed. “I—I’m upset with myself, mate. I’ve never felt like this before. Like—“ he scrubbed a hand through his hair before going on, “I’ve never liked someone so much and it’s driving me insane not being able to do anything about it. And then seeing you with Harry, it’s just—hard, I guess. But that’s on me. Not on you,” he finished.

Louis nodded. “I guess I can see that. But it’s not like Harry and I are like, dating,” he said quickly. “We’re just sleeping together. It’s not the same thing as what you want with Liam.” Zayn looked like he very much wanted to say something to this, but he apparently thought better of it (probably in honor of his recent apology) and just nodded vaguely. 

Louis surveyed the tray. Eggs, sausage, a scone and a cup of tea. “Where’d you get all that?” he asked Zayn. “Made it,” Zayn said simply. Louis’ jaw dropped. Because Zayn didn’t cook. Like, Zayn _never_ cooked. He could design a robot and explain quantum physics with his hands tied behind his back, but if you suggested he do more than toast a slice of bread, he’d look at you like you were mental. “You cooked?” Louis asked doubtfully. “Don’t sound so surprised,” Zayn mumbled with a slight scowl. “Wasn’t a big deal.” 

“Who knew you were so domestic, Zaynie?” Louis gushed affectionately, patting Zayn’s cheek and making him scowl again before digging into his breakfast. “I love you, Zee, but there is no fucking way that you made this,” he remarked after biting into his scone and moaning in pleasure at the buttery, flaky, and slightly sweet taste of the pastry. Zayn looked down at his feet and mumbled, “Yeah, I had Liam help me. You know he’s good at baking and shit. And—I talked to him a bit about—you know.”

 

“You talked to Liam?” Louis asked, taking care to keep his tone neutral. Zayn nodded. “Yeah. I didn’t like tell him about how I feel or whatever,” he said in a rush. “But I apologized for what happened a few weeks ago. Told him that I just kind of freaked out a bit or whatever,” Zayn grumbled noncommittally. Louis beamed at him. It might not have resolved their issues, but it was a conversation and it was a start. “Good for you, Zee. That’s great,” he said. Zayn shrugged. “You were right.” Louis mimed a hair flip. “Usually am,” he said smugly. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, now,” Zayn replied drily. 

“Y’know, this habit you’ve got of fucking up and then bringing me food can’t go on forever,” Louis said playfully. “I have my slim physique to maintain,” he said, patting his stomach sanctimoniously. Zayn rolled his eyes. “Please. You eat for shit,” he said, reaching across to take a bite of Louis’ scone. “This really is fucking incredible,” he said, studying the scone with interest. “Li said it’s his mum’s recipe. Went on about some special ingredient,” he grinned fondly. It was terribly endearing and sad at the same time, seeing Zayn moon over Liam about his fucking baking skills of all things. Louis had never seen him like this before, and he hated that he felt like he had to keep it a secret (not that Louis was the poster child for emotional transparency; God knew he was the furthest thing from it).

* * *

When he went into Blackwell’s for his morning shift half an hour later, Louis found Kathy and her two boys in the children’s section. Kathy was leading the weekly story hour while her sons and a large group of children sat huddled around her, listening raptly as Kathy read to them about the adventures of a daring knight living in medieval York. “Are there usually this many kids? Seems like they should be in school,” Louis remarked after Kathy had finished the book and crossed the store to where Louis was manning the register. “It’s our autumn vacation!” Colin informed him cheerfully, standing on his toes to prop his elbows up on the counter.

“Is it now? Any big plans? A hot date, maybe?” Louis asked him seriously. Colin giggled madly. “Ew, gross!” he squealed Louis chuckled. “Football then?” Colin nodded vigorously. “We get to practice extra today! Mummy’s taking me after this, aren’t you, mummy? Aren’t you?” he asked eagerly, turning to his mother. She grinned and patted his head fondly. “Yes, poppet. Soon as we’re done here.” Kathy’s older son, Andrew ducked behind the register and tugged on Louis’ polo. “Lou! My play’s next week! You and Liam are still coming, right?” he asked insistently. “Don’t be rude, darling,” Kathy frowned. Louis brushed away her rebuke and grinned down at Andrew. “Wouldn’t miss it! Your mum gave us our tickets a couple days ago!” Andrew beamed and gave him a little fist bump. 

 

Louis looked over the boy’s head when he heard the bell chiming, announcing a customer’s arrival. He grinned at the familiar face. “Hey, Harry!” It wasn’t unusual for Harry to drop in during one of Louis’ shifts. Books were something of a passion for him (evidenced by the fact that every square inch of surface area in his flat was piled with them), and he was always needing a new one for class or research or “some light reading,” as he liked to say.

“Where’s the children’s section, Lou?” Harry asked once he’d approached the register. “It’s that way!” Andrew exclaimed, pointing across the store to the appropriate corner. Harry looked down at him, then back up at Louis. “This is Andrew,” he explained. “His mum owns the shop. And this is Andrew’s brother Colin,” he added, gesturing to the other boy, who was giving Louis a pointed look with his hands on his hips. “And this is my friend, Harry,” he said to the boys. “Hullo, Harry,” they chorused politely.

Colin turned to Harry. “My favorite’s _Velveteen Rabbit._ You should read that one.” he said authoritatively. Andrew scoffed at his younger brother. “He’s too old to read that, Colin.” He turned to Harry. “You should try _Harry Potter_ ,” he informed Harry very seriously. “Because your name is Harry and also because they’re the best books in the world.” Harry laughed. “Those are some of my favorites!” he exclaimed. “But I’m not shopping for me. It’s my nephew’s birthday, so I’m getting his gift. Maybe you could help me out?” Both little boys nodded vigorously and rushed off. Harry turned to Louis. “That’s okay, isn’t it?” Louis shrugged. “By all means. They love helping customers.” Harry turned and followed the boys across the shop, where they were waiting impatiently.

Louis observed the three of them. The boys appeared to be bickering, vying for Harry’s approval. Harry was chiming in amiably, occasionally making the boys laugh uproariously. So on top of being smart and funny and fit as fuck and amazing in bed, Harry Styles was also great with kids. Wasn’t that just wonderful? A hot bloke immediately becomes ten times hotter when he’s playing with cute kids. Everyone knew that. It was one of the laws of nature. Louis didn’t even notice Kathy coming up beside him and following his gaze to the children’s section. He started when she spoke. “Who’s that striking young man who you’ve let kidnap my children?” she asked him. 

“That’s Harry. He’s—we work together.” At that moment, Harry looked up from the boys and caught Louis’ eye, cocking his head and grinning broadly. Kathy looked from Louis to Harry and back again, and then she shot Louis a shit-eating grin. “Looks really professional,” she said mischievously. Louis suppressed an eye roll. “It is, thank you,” he said a touch defensively. “Mm, anything you say, Lou,” she said, clearly unconvinced. 

 

“I didn’t know your sister had kids,” Louis remarked as he rung up Harry’s purchases a few minutes later (he had selected four books, telling Louis that he “just couldn’t choose” which Louis knew meant that he had wanted to satisfy both Colin and Andrew). “Just one. Thomas. He’ll be three next Saturday,” Harry said proudly, whipping his phone out of his pocket and scrolling for a moment, then turning the screen around so Louis could see a picture of Harry with a small child perched on his shoulders. The little boy was laughing gleefully and gripping a handful of Harry’s curls, and Harry was looking up at him fondly. Louis looked up from the phone. “That,” he said soberly, “might just be the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. Truly. You’ve outdone yourself, Harold.” Harry just laughed and rolled his eyes.

After Harry had left the store a few minutes later, Andrew rejoined Louis at the register. “I like Harry. He’s nice and he said that he liked my portable rock collection,” he observed matter-of-factly. Louis grinned in spite of himself. “Yeah, I like him too,” Louis said, gazing absently at the spot where Harry had just slipped out the door. 

* * *

October had slipped into November, and Coleman was putting pressure on Louis and Harry to work even harder on research for the book. “My publisher’s on my ass, lads,” he explained one day after class. “Says that if the book’s gonna get written by the end of next term, the secondary research at least has to be done by winter hols.” As a result, they had started meeting more frequently as the temperature continued to plummet. Not that Louis was complaining. He enjoyed the work and he enjoyed the company and he enjoyed the sense of accomplishment that he got after each of their sessions. 

One Thursday evening, he and Harry were working late, struggling through the last of a nasty annotated bibliography. Harry looked up from his large pile of books and rubbed his temples. “Think I’ve done pretty much all I can do for the night,” he announced, stretching his hands over his head and stretching them upwards, wincing when his back popped. Louis let out a sigh of relief. “Thank God! M’dying over here,” he confessed, saving the file he’d been typing and closing his laptop. 

They started packing up, talking as they divvied up the stack of books between the two of them. “Oh, guess what I found out today?” Harry asked, sliding Louis’ notebook across the table to him. “Hm?” Louis looked up. “One of my best mates from home is moving to York! Not sure if I’ve mentioned him before—Nick Grimshaw?” Louis frowned. The name sounded familiar. After a moment, he snapped his fingers. “The artist friend! Bloke who painted that picture hanging in your room!” Harry nodded happily. “That’s the one!” he replied. “He’s got a job in a gallery here and he’s moving in a couple weeks!” Louis smiled. “That’s nice, Haz.” 

 

“Yeah, I’m excited. I still don’t know very many people here and—I dunno, it’s been a bit lonely. It’ll be nice to have another familiar face around,” he said wistfully. At these words, Louis inexplicably felt his stomach drop a couple of inches. He wasn’t sure why, but it didn’t sit well with him that Harry was lonely in York. Of course, he had known that Harry was still transitioning to living here, and it made him sad to hear that he had been struggling with that transition. But it also made him feel strange—self-conscious or inadequate or something. 

“You’ve got people here,” he said reassuringly. “Yeah, Niall. But I get sick of his ugly mug,” Harry said playfully. “You’ve got me,” Louis said recklessly, his breath catching in his throat as he spoke. Harry whipped his head around to stare at him, eyes wide and lips parted in something like surprise. Then, his expression softened and he smiled so widely that Louis couldn’t even panic about the enormity of what he’d just said. “Yeah. I guess I do,” Harry beamed.


	10. 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one's a monster, super long and lots of stuff happens. hope everyone enjoys!!

“I had a dream the other night that you blew me in the locker room of the football pitch.” 

Harry’s head whipped up from the book that he was stooped over to peer at Louis, who was highlighting a passage from his own book.

They were sitting across from one another in the small classroom where they worked, and Louis had one leg stretched out languidly over the side of Harry’s chair, brushing his thigh.“Did you now?” Harry asked interestedly. 

“Yep,” Louis replied, popping the p. “It was some pretty hot shit. Dream Harry really knows his way around a dick” 

Harry grinned wickedly. “You’re making Real Life Harry jealous.” Louis nodded “Maybe you should be. Dream Harry’s great. Much less irritating than Real Life Harry.” 

Harry raised a finger in warning, but his eyes were sparkling playfully. “Watch it. Real Life Harry sucks your dick in real life, remember?” Louis cackled and returned to his book.

After a moment, Harry spoke. “Speaking of football—I was thinking of coming to the match on Saturday since you’re playing Oxford and all." 

Louis didn’t say anything, so Harry barreled on. “Nick’s getting into town this week and he wants to come as well. He knows Ed as well, better than I do actually. And Niall’s been wanting to come to a match, too. I thought it could be a good way for Nick to meet everyone or whatever.” 

His voice was casual, but Louis didn’t miss the carefulness there.

“Uh, yeah, okay,” Louis said, gauging his feelings and surprising himself when he realized that he was actually excited at the prospect. “That’s good, actually. It’s the first round of championships, so it’ll be good to have some friendly faces in the crowd.”

Harry grinned. “Maybe after we can celebrate your inevitable victory at my place?” Louis smirked. “I destroy Oxford then you destroy me? Sounds like a plan.”

 

The lead-up to the last match of the season was almost unbearable. Louis always felt a bit nervous before a big game, but this was the biggest game, the game that would determine whether or not all their hard work that season had been for nothing. 

The pressure was immense, especially since Oxford had beaten York for the previous three seasons. Louis had played in two of those games, and he vividly remembered the pain of both defeats. 

It didn't help that the Oxford team was full of arrogant, entitled twats who had taken great pleasure in rubbing their victory in York's face. All that to say that this was going to be a grudge match.

Although he went about his other duties—class and work and research and so on—Louis was on autopilot for the entire week. Because the only thing that really mattered was clinching this victory for York.

Luckily, most of the people in Louis’ life knew how preoccupied he was by the upcoming match and gave him a pass for being rather less attentive than usual.

* * *

“Louis, darling. _Pride and Prejudice_ doesn’t belong in the autobiography section,” Kathy reminded him gently during his Friday morning shift at Blackwell’s.

Louis, who had been staring off into space as he shoved books onto a shelf, looked up in alarm. “Huh? Oh, right! I’m so sorry!” he exclaimed, heaping the books he’d just shelved into his arms and back into their box. 

Kathy patted his arm and smiled warmly. “You’ve got a lot on your mind,” she said. “How are you feeling about tomorrow?” Louis sighed. “I feel okay. We’re in good shape. Been working really hard. But it’s just such a big game,” he trailed off, anxiety creeping into his voice. 

“Well, the boys and I will be sure to cheer extra loud. Thanks again for getting us those tickets.” At this, Louis’ pensive frown dissolved into a grin. “Me and Li are so happy that you’re coming! Is Colin excited?” 

“Are you kidding? He hasn’t stopped talking about it this whole week. Wanted to make posters, bless him.” They both chuckled.

“Is your family coming up to watch the match?” Kathy asked him as he began shelving the books in the correct section. At her words, Louis stopped dead. Because he had completely forgotten that his mum and sisters were indeed taking the train from Doncaster to see him play. How could he have forgotten? He had sent them their tickets just a couple of weeks ago.

Normally he would be thrilled to see his family. He loved when they came up to watch a match. 

But. It was just that, well. Harry would be at the match. And the idea of Harry and his family being in the same place at the same time was a slightly terrifying one. 

Unfortunately for Louis, his mum had both eagle eyes and excellent instinct. He didn’t know for sure, but he got the feeling that she already knew something was up. 

He’d mentioned Harry in conversation a few times (because he was fucking weak and couldn’t help himself). It was always in the context of the research job, but his mum had a sixth sense about this kind of thing and it hadn’t escaped his attention when she’d asked some carefully-worded follow up questions about Harry. 

He would have to hope that their paths didn’t cross before or after the match tomorrow. Making that one more thing he had to worry about.

 

After Louis had finished showering and brushing his teeth that night, he sunk onto his bed and phoned his mum to remind her what time the match started the next day. She assured him that she and his sisters would be on the 8 o’clock train from Doncaster to York the following morning. 

The game started at noon which gave Louis plenty of time to meet his mum and sisters for breakfast. His mum insisted that he bring Zayn along too, saying that it had been too long since she’d seen her second son (Zayn and Louis’ mums were close friends and when they were growing up, it had been an ongoing joke that Zayn spent more time at Louis’ house than Louis did).

Louis rolled his eyes and promised that he would try his best to drag Zayn's ass out of bed before wishing his mum a good night and ringing off.

* * *

When he hung up, he saw that Harry had texted him while he’d been on the phone.

“how are you feeling about tomorrow? can’t wait to watch you kill it out there.”

Warmth curled in Louis’ insides and a grinned slipped on his face as he felt a bit of the tension he’d been experiencing over the past week slip away.

“Feeling okay. Would feel better if you were here to give me another one of those shoulder rubs,” he typed back with a winking face.

“so spoiled, must be nice to have your own personal masseuse,” Harry responded with a laughing emoji. “For your information I pay my masseuse in blowjobs and he’s very well-compensated.”

Louis’ grin widened as he imagined Harry curled on one corner of his old leather sofa, laughing at Louis’ cheeky text.

Louis looked at his watch. It was only a little after 9, so it wouldn’t be wholly irresponsible to go over to Harry’s place for a bit, would it? “Any chance you’re home and in the mood to bend it like Beckham?” he typed, ending the message with a smirking emoji.

Louis read Harry’s response with a small frown. “actually at nick’s new place helpng him unpack.” Three dots indicated that he was typing again. “wanna see you but we jst started unpacking and we wont be done til late.”

Louis quirked an eyebrow at the typos. Harry was usually quite the grammarian in his texts. “Sure you haven’t been doing anything other than unpacking?” he typed.

“maaaybe. brought over some beers to celbrate the reunion, might have gotten a little carried away.”

Louis’ frown deepened. “Haha, no worries. Have fun,” he typed. As he slipped under the covers and turned off the lamp on his bedside table a few minutes later, Louis felt a prickle of disappointment. Disappointment and…something else. Irritation? Frustration?

Louis wasn’t exactly sure, but he felt its unpleasant burn simmering low in his stomach as he punched his pillow and turned over. For some reason, it bothered him a bit that Harry was spending his Friday night with another guy, even if it was just to unpack this other bloke’s flat. 

But he told himself that he as being stupid, that Harry could do whatever he wanted and that it didn’t affect Louis one way or the other. He tried not to think about the way Harry got all rosy and flirtatious when he drank and rolled over in bed, determined to fall asleep as quickly as possible.

 

Right as he was dozing off, the buzz of his phone jolted him awake. It was another text from Harry.

“wish you were here lou. wanna fuck your pretty mouth and cum on your face.”

For some reason, the message deepened his irritation. Louis was all wound up and nervous for the match, which made him horny as hell. While he normally loved Harry sending him dirty texts, he really didn’t appreciate being teased at the moment, when Harry wasn't here to do anything about it.

But it was more than just sexual frustration. He knew he was being stupid and making a fuss over nothing, but the thought of Harry drunk and horny with another bloke while he lay in bed by himself was more than a little bit frustrating. And as ridiculous as it was, it made Louis feel slightly threatened. “Don’t start something you can’t finish, Harry,” he replied, then switched off his phone.

Oh, well. It would be better to get a good night’s rest anyway. Tomorrow was going to be a stressful, important, exhausting day and he would thank himself in the morning. At least that’s what Louis told himself as he turned over one last time and jammed his eyes shut.

* * *

Louis spent much of the next morning trying to drag Zayn out of bed in time for breakfast with Louis’ mum and sisters. After he’d finished making tea, brushing his teeth, and getting dressed, he poked his head inside Zayn’s room for the third time.

“Zee, I’m leaving in five minutes and mum’ll never let you forget it if you blow this off.” Zayn harrumphed and kicked his covers off of himself. “M’um, m'up,” he yawned. “Before nine o’clock on a Saturday,” he mumbled to himself mutinously as he pulled on a t-shirt and jeans.

Ten minutes later, the pair of them were slipping into a cafe down the road, his mum’s favorite restaurant in town. Louis spotted the girls as soon as he walked in. They were, as usual, the loudest people in the room. It looked like Lottie and Fizzy were bickering and Daisy was laughing uproariously at a joke Phoebe had just told while his mum fruitlessly attempted to get them all to quiet down.

“Hullo, boys!” Jay called as they approached. “You’re late!” she chided playfully. Zayn bent to peck her on the cheek and said, “Sorry, Jay. Louis overslept. It was all I could do to get him out of bed.” Louis put a hand on his hip and shot Zayn a furious look. “Sorry, mum. Zayn’s full of shit.” The table erupted with laughter. Even his mum chuckled, though not before reprovingly saying “Language, Lou!”

The rest of breakfast passed in much the same way, with Louis and Zayn taking turns insulting one another while the girls spectated enthusiastically. By the time they’d finished their food and gotten the bill, Louis had started chatting with Lottie.

 

“So,” Lottie turned to Louis as the waiter took away their empty plates. “Are we gonna get to meet your boyfriend?” she asked casually. Louis bristled. “I do not have a boyfriend,” he said firmly, his hand clenching around his glass of water in a vice grip. “And remind me to never tell mum anything ever again.” Lottie chuckled. “Yeah, you really should have known better than to tell mum about a guy. Rookie mistake.” Louis had to admit that she had a point there. “True. Call it a moment of weakness,” he said. 

“Seriously, though. There is someone, isn’t there?” Lottie pressed, keeping her voice low so that the rest of the table couldn’t hear. “I can tell. You’re—different. Good different. Like, relaxed and—I dunno, happy.” Louis squawked in indignation. “I’m always happy!” Lottie rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean.” 

Louis thought for a moment before speaking. “There’s—yeah, there’s kind of someone. It’s—complicated.” Lottie grinned ruefully. “Friends with benefits?” Louis elbowed her. “Oh, god. I’m going to pretend that my 16-year old sister did not just ask me if I had a friend with benefits.”

“First of all, I’m 17 so fuck you. And second of all, stop avoiding the question! Who’s the guy?” Louis groaned and scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Ugh, fine! His name is Harry and it’s very casual and if you tell any of the others I swear I will not rest until I’ve ruined your life.” 

Lottie looked far too pleased with herself at having gotten this information out of Louis. He raised a finger in warning. “Seriously, Lots. Not a word.” She swiped her hands over her mouth to mime zipping her lips. “My lips are sealed,” she promised.

* * *

His busy morning had helped to drive his anxiety out of his mind, but it was back in full force as soon as he was alone in his room. He had an hour to spare before he had to leave, and it took him approximately seven seconds to change into his uniform. 

He spent a few minutes mindlessly scrolling through his phone; then he chugged a large glass of water; then he stared unseeingly at the pages of a book until he realized that he was too nervous to actually read. As a last resort, he paced around his bedroom about 50 times. 

Finally, he couldn’t stand the maddening restlessness that came from doing nothing, so he hitched his bag over his shoulder and headed for the pitch half an hour early. At this point, he would rather jog in circles around the field than spend one more excruciating second waiting. 

He was on his second lap around the pitchwhen he heard someone calling his name. He looked around, expecting to see Liam or Olly or Ed coming toward him.

 

“What are you doing here so early?” Louis asked brusquely to the tall, curly-haired newcomer. The game wasn’t supposed to start for over an hour. Harry smiled crookedly. “Thought I’d find you here,” he replied. Which still didn’t answer Louis’ question. He was confused and caught off guard and so nervous that his ears were ringing a little bit. So he opened his mouth to ask Harry exactly what it was that he wanted, but before he could do that, Harry blurted out, “Hey, could we talk for a minute? Somewhere private?”

“Yeah, I suppose so,” he said hesitantly. “We can just go into the locker rooms, I guess.” Harry beamed, which annoyed Louis further. He thought that if he tried to smile right now, he might throw up. So he turned on his heel and walked off toward the small field-house without waiting for Harry. 

Once Louis had checked that the building was indeed empty and ushered Harry inside, he leaned against one of the lockers and looked up at Harry. “What is it?” he asked with an impatient edge to his voice. “How are you feeling about the match?” Harry asked him. Which, again, didn’t answer Louis’ question. 

Louis shot him an incredulous look. “Honestly, Harry, pretty fucking nervous.” Harry cocked his head, eyes wide with concern. “You shouldn’t be nervous, Lou. I know you’ll smash it,” Harry smiled. Easy for him to say. He wasn’t the one who had a team to lead and all his family and friends watching and three previous losses to vindicate. So Louis’ patience, already worn thin, finally gave out. 

“Listen. My team is going be here in like 10 minutes and I don’t have a lot of time so you’re going to have to get to the fucking point,” he snapped.

 

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Ten minutes, you said?” he asked casually. Louis nodded tersely. “Well, that should be enough time,” Harry said matter-of-factly. Louis started to ask what in the hell he was talking about, but he stopped when Harry took several long, purposeful steps forward, bridging the space between them and raising his arms so that they were resting on the lockers behind Louis, bracketing him between Harry and the wall. 

“See, I was trying to think of a way I could wish you good luck,” he murmured. “And I figured that actions speak louder than words.” Without another word, he dropped to his knees and, in one fluid motion, pulled Louis’ shorts and pants down his legs. Louis gasped and swore and bucked his hips, gaping down at Harry, who Had just licked a broad stripe up his cock while looking up at him, wide green eyes gleaming with mirth.

“H-Harry, the team,” Louis murmured frantically, reaching down and tangling a hand in Harry’s hair as Harry moaned around his cock. He pulled off, his lips red and spit-slicked. “Do you want me to stop?” he asked, smirking devilishly because he already knew the answer to that question. “Fuck, no,” Louis whimpered as Harry palmed him hard and fast.

Approximately three minutes later, Louis was staring up at the ceiling and gasping for air as he came hard, legs shaking and back arched against the locker he was pressed against. Normally, he would have been mortified at having come so fast, but desperate times call for desperate measures, and Louis really had been incredibly wound up for the past few days.

“What was that for?” Louis asked breathlessly as Harry stood up and rubbed the dust off the front of his jeans. “Just making your dreams come true,” he smirked. 

Before Louis had a chance to reply, Harry pushed him hard against the lockers and kissed him, rough and bruising. He licked inside Louis’ mouth so that Louis could taste himself on Harry’s tongue. It was obscene and fucking fantastic, and Louis moaned and brought a hand to Harry’s ass, but Harry pulled away before he had the chance to go any further. “Have a good game,” Harry grinned. Then he turned and strode out of the locker room, whistling something that sounded like “Hedwig’s Theme.” 

 

Louis was still rooted to the spot, backed against the lockers in stunned silence several minutes later when Liam and Ed entered the locker room, chatting and laughing. They stopped speaking when they looked up and saw Louis. “Lou! You’re here a bit early!” Ed said. His eyes narrowed when he took a closer look at Louis. “Everything alright, mate? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost or something.” 

Louis shook his head rapidly. “No—I mean, yeah, all good. Just kind of zoned out, I guess,” he said in an attempt at a flippant tone. Ed nodded sympathetically. “Probably nerves. Big match. I think we’ll get a great turnout, though. Ellie’s coming, and my brother’s mate Nick. He’s friends with Harry. Y’know it’s strange, I actually just ran into Harry leaving the pitch! Asked him why he was here so early and he said something about getting the time of the match wrong,” he said, shrugging. “Is that so?” Louis asked, trying his hardest not to look shifty. “Weird.” 

Ed spent the next few minutes prattling on about who might be at the match, but Louis had stopped paying attention. He looked over at Liam and saw that his mate was examining him skeptically, taking in his flushed cheeks and sweaty brow and forced, would-be casual tone of voice with a raised eyebrow. 

It was clear that he didn’t buy Louis’ excuse about just having zoned out. When Ed mentioned Harry’s strange appearance at the pitch, his brow furrowed a bit more. And then, after a moment, it clicked. Louis could actually see the moment where Liam put two and two together. His head snapped to Louis, his expression a mixture of shock, disgust, and amusement. 

When the three of them left the locker room to start warmups a minute later, Liam slipped behind Louis and whispered, “Really, Louis? In the locker room?” Louis widened his eyes and cocked his head, his face the picture of innocent confusion. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he replied breezily. 

“That’s unsanitary, that is,” Liam grumbled, but he was grinning. “Hope that your little extra warmup got you in the mood to kick some ass,” Liam snickered as they jogged onto the pitch together. 

And funny enough, it actually had. Louis felt much more relaxed, much less trapped in his own head, and just fucking powerful, like no opponent could possibly stand in his way. “We’re going to win,” Louis told Liam confidently. “Gonna wipe the pitch with their asses.” 

Amazing how one blowjob could boost his confidence so much, but looking across the field to where Oxford had started warming up, Louis felt like laughing. Because this was going to be cake. He’d have to remember this the next time he was nervous about a big exam or something. 

* * *

During warmups, Louis sporadically glanced up into the stands for his family and friends. His mum and sisters were some of the first spectators to take their seats. Zayn arrived a few minutes later, and he squeezed between Lottie and Jo. Kathy and her sons got there next. They had met Louis’ family at previous football games, and they turned to say hello as they took seats in the row in front of Jo and the girls. 

Then Louis saw Perrie making her way onto the bleachers, clutching Niall’s hand and laughing heartily at something he’d just said. Louis took a moment to appreciate how cute they were together, with their matching blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and huge grins. She spotted Zayn and made a beeline for where he was sitting, taking a seat in the row right behind him. Harry was just a few minutes behind. He was with another man who Louis assumed must be the famous Nick. He was skinny and had reddish brown hair styled in a quiff. 

Niall waved the pair of them over to where he and Perrie were sitting. Which was directly behind Louis’ entire family. Oh, god. At that moment, Harry looked out onto the pitch and caught Louis staring. He grinned toothily and waved. When Louis waved back, his mum, who was sitting directly in front of Harry, beamed and waved at him before realizing that he wasn’t looking at her. 

She looked around in confusion and saw Harry, hands still outstretched and goofy grin plastered on his face. Then her head snapped back to Louis, who turned abruptly and jogged onto the sidelines to retrieve his water bottle. This was going to be a long day. 

Louis was spared from any further worrying by the referee blowing his whistle, announcing that the match would begin in 5 minutes. “Oi, Louis! Huddle!” Olly shouted, waving him over to where most of the team was congregated by one of the goalposts. 

Louis jogged over, his heart starting to pound faster in his chest again. He sandwiched himself between his coach and Ed, who immediately looped an arm over Louis’ shoulder. Louis did the same to his coach and soon the circle was linked, the whole team standing with their arms around each other and heads bent forward. 

“Alright, lads,” his coach said. “This is the big one. Oxford.” He spit out the last word. “It’s redemption time. Time to show those posh little Oxford boys how we do it up here in York.” The team hummed and nodded their agreement. Louis could feel the energy of his teammates buzzing through the circle, felt it entering his bloodstream like a drug.

“This is the best damn team we’ve had in years,” Coach said, his voice heavy with a rare display of emotion. “We can do this. We’ve put in the work. We’ve got the talent. We’ve got tremendous leaders,” he said proudly, looking around at Louis, Liam, Olly, and Ed and making Louis feel like his heart was expanding, pushing against his ribcage. “We’ve got this!” Coach boomed, and the team erupted in cheers.

“Now, who’s ready to kick ass and take names?” Ed shouted, hopping up and down. Everyone hooted. “ALRIGHT?” Louis yelled. “ALRIGHT,” the team called. “ALRIGHT?” Louis shouted at the very top of his voice. “ALRIGHT!” the team exploded, louder than Louis could ever remember. “Let’s fucking do this, mates!” Olly exclaimed.

Louis was more pumped up than ever, could practically feel the individuals cells in his body buzzing against his skin and making him feel superhuman, unstoppable. Right before he ran out onto the field with the rest of the starting lineup, he looked out into the stands and got another jolt of energy when he spotted his friends and family beaming down at him, applauding the team as they lined up. 

His mum was taking a photo; Phoebe and Daisy were shouting out some kind of elaborate cheer that they’d made up and Niall and Perrie (who were practically children themselves) had enthusiastically joined in. 

Then Louis saw Harry. He had unbuttoned the coat he was wearing and Louis saw that underneath, he had on a York t-shirt. If he hadn’t known Harry as well as he did, this might have seemed like no big deal. But over the last few months, Louis had learned that Harry was bursting with Oxford pride.

He talked about his alma mater whenever the opportunity presented itself and the only t-shirt Louis had ever seen him wear was an Oxford one and he even owned a ridiculous signet ring that Louis teased him mercilessly about. Louis hadn’t even known that he owned any York gear. But apparently he did, and the fact that he was wearing it today, to the Oxford game, felt big and exhilarating and terrifying. Because Louis knew deep down that it was for him. And that made his heart pound and his palms sweat and his skin tingle. But more than anything, it made him want to win.

 

Which is exactly what they ended up doing. It was an absolute wipeout, not even close with a final score of 4-1. From the moment that the referee blew the starting whistle, the entire team had been in the zone. All of the months of training kicked in and they ran circles around Oxford. 

When he thought back on the game, Louis had a hard time picking his favorite moment. It might have been when Ed made the best save Louis had ever seen at the end of the first half, when they had been tied at 1-1. But it also could have been when his mate Ashton, a promising first year, scored the winning goal, which was also his first ever goal on the York football team. Or maybe when Coach had sprinted onto the field as soon as the final whistle blew and threw his arms around as many players as he could reach, tears streaming down his face. It would be fair to say that, all in all, it was a pretty excellent match.

Louis could seldom remember being happier than he was in this moment. He found Liam, Olly, and Ed and they all tackled each other in a tight group hug, whooping and cheering at the tops of their lungs. “We just won the finals!” Olly shouted delightedly. “The fucking finals,” he repeated, as if he almost couldn’t believe it. 

The rest of the team had gathered around them to join the celebration and for a few minutes, it was totally unadulterated and purely perfect chaos. Ed had pulled a bottle of shitty champagne out of his gym bag and shaken it up before letting it spray everywhere. He took a giant swig and passed it to Coach, who gave him a bemused look before shrugging and taking a long pull. Louis felt overwhelmed by it all; totally surrounded by laughter and shouting and the infectious elation that came with victory.

* * *

He looked up from the scene to find that the stands were emptying as the spectators filtered onto the sidelines, immediately adjacent to the pitch. “Gonna go say hello to everyone,” Louis said to Liam before slipping out of the circle and jogging off the field.

He scanned the crowd for familiar faces and spotted Harry almost at once. He stood out from the rest of the crowd because of his height and also because of how perfect he looked with his bright green eyes fixed on Louis and his gorgeous full lips stretched in a blinding smile.

Before Louis could even think about stopping himself, he had run up to Harry and thrown his arms around him. “Nice shirt,” he whispered into Harry’s curls. He could almost feel Harry grinning in response. 

“You were amazing, Lou. Amazing.” He squeezed Louis closer to him, wrapping his arms more tightly around Louis’ back. And Louis decided that he had been wrong before, because this was definitely the best moment of all. 

He tipped his head up to look Harry in the eyes and he felt the sudden and overwhelming urge to kiss him. He was just leaning in when he felt someone bump his shoulder, which brought him crashing back down to Earth. Louis remembered with a start that he was in public. With his entire family and most of his friends. Right.

 

He pulled away from Harry and looked down. “Gotta go,” he murmured. “I’ll—uh—catch you later, Haz.” Without another word, he slipped away, looking around for his mum and sisters. 

He didn’t have to look far. They were a bit further down the sidelines and Jo was chatting with Kathy while his younger sisters played some kind of balancing game with her sons. 

They all stopped what they were doing when they saw Louis approaching. “Good job, darling! Congratulations!” Jay exclaimed happily, reaching down to wrap Louis in a hug. “Thanks, mum,” he murmured appreciatively. He turned to his boss. 

“Thanks so much for coming, Kath!” he beamed, then he knelt down so that he that he was level with Colin and Andrew. “Did you two enjoy the game?” he asked them. 

Both boys nodded excitedly and Colin grabbed the sleeve of his uniform and burst out, “It was so good! I hope I’m as good at football as you are when I grow up Lou! I think you must be as good as Wayne Rooney!” Louis almost lost it at the excited, starstruck look on the 6-year old’s face. “I wish! I’m glad you guys had fun,” he grinned and ruffled Colin’s hair. 

“Boys, let Louis get back to the rest of his fan club,” Kathy smiled, gesturing to where his family was clustered. “Lou, that was incredible!” Daisy gushed. “That second goal you scored was unbelievable! I can’t wait to show my team! Look, I recorded the whole thing!” 

She pulled out her phone and brandished it at Louis, who saw a miniature version of himself dribbling the ball down the field and kicking it past Oxford’s goalkeeper. His other sisters engulfed him, pressing kisses to his cheeks and pulling him in for hugs and saying things like “Way to go, Lou!” and “Smashed it, big bro!”

 

From a few feet behind him, he heard a woman’s voice shouting his name. He looked back and saw Perrie grinning broadly at him and waving him over.Louis waved and murmured to his family that he’d be right back. 

“Go, go! Say hello to your adoring fans!” his mother laughed, shooing him away. Louis walked toward Perrie and saw that she was sandwiched between Niall and Zayn. Harry had rejoined their little group and he was chatting with Niall and the bloke that Louis assumed was Nick stood beside him, glancing down at his phone.  

“Hey, Pez. Thanks for coming!” Louis said, wrapping her in a one-armed hug. “Ugh, Lou, you’re sweaty!” she exclaimed, laughing and scrunching up her face. “Seriously, though. Great game!”

Niall nodded vigorously and reached out to shake his hand. “You lot absolutely crushed it! You’re one hell of a player!” he boomed. “Thanks, mate!” Louis said heartily. “And thanks for coming!” Niall scoffed. 

“Wouldn’t have missed it! Only bad part was having to watch this one“— he pointed at Harry— “making moon eyes down at the pitch the entire match. Y’should have seen him when you scored that second goal, Lou. He could be on _Footballer’s Wives,_ honestly.” 

Louis roared with laughter as Harry scrubbed a hand through his hair and grinned sheepishly. “Don’t mind Niall. He doesn’t get out much,” he explained. Niall turned and whacked him on the arm. “I get out plenty, you twat!” Harry laughed and said, “Right. It’s the Irish thing then, innit?” 

 

Niall was about to respond when Harry looked around and seemed to suddenly remembered his other friend standing beside him looking slightly uncomfortable. “God, looks like I’m the rude one after all. Louis, this is my friend, Nick,” Harry said, looking between Nick and Louis. 

Louis got his first good look at the other man. He was shorter than Harry but about an inch taller than Louis. He had wavy, chestnut brown hair and brown eyes that flickered mischievously, like he was in on a joke that no one else knew about. He was wearing skinny jeans and a fitted black jumper and a purple scarf with black stars that Louis found utterly ridiculous. Louis told himself to be nice as he turned towards Nick and hitched a wide grin onto his face. 

“Nice to meet you!” he said amiably. “Likewise,” Nick said primly. “Hazza’s told me all about you,” he added. Louis didn’t like the conspiratorial tone in Nick’s voice, and, stupid as it was, he didn’t like the way that Harry’s nickname sounded coming out of Nick’s mouth.

“Is that so?” he asked. “All bad things, I assume?” he said, grinning. “Oh, you know Harry,” Nick said, returning his smile and resting a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Wouldn’t say a word against anyone.” Louis turned to Harry. “Funny, I haven’t gotten that impression at all. Are you really that nice to everyone else, Harold? I feel cheated.” 

Harry grinned goofily. “Shut up,” he said, elbowing Louis playfully. Louis grinned back and leaned into the touch momentarily before pulling away and saying, “In any case, good to meet you, Nick.” He looked back at Harry. “We’re gonna do an afterparty at my place later tonight. Maybe you’d want to come? Both of you.” Harry nodded. “Yeah, for sure,” he said eagerly.

Louis nodded happily and then turned toward where Zayn was standing to his left chatting with Perrie. When he saw Louis, Zayn clapped him on the shoulder and said, “God knows I hate football, but that was a pretty great match. Congrats, mate.”

Louis knew he was just saying it to be nice but he beamed nonetheless. “Oh, Zayn, you haven’t met Niall, have you?” Louis heard Perrie ask, and Zayn turned away from Louis to face the group.

“You’re Louis’ best mate, right? Nice to meet you, man,” Niall said amiably. “You too,” Zayn extended his hand and grinned at Niall. “How do you know Louis?” he asked conversationally. “Oh, we met through Harry,” Niall grinned. 

At this, Zayn perked up. “Is that right?” Niall nodded. “Yep. Harry’s me best mate. Have you met him?” He looked over his shoulder. “Oi! Harry!” He grabbed Harry by the arm and Harry looked around confusedly.

“This is Zayn. He’s friends with Louis and Pez.” Recognition dawned on Harry’s face and he smiled broadly. “Hi! It’s so nice to meet you,” he said, taking Zayn’s outstretched hand. “Really nice to meet you too, man,” Zayn replied, smirking at Louis, who was watching the whole situation unfold and trying not to panic.

 

At that exact moment, Lottie walked up and tapped Zayn on the shoulder. “Zaynie! There you are! Mum’s looking for you. Wants to get a picture of you and Lou to send to your mum,” she said.

Then she looked at Zayn’s hand still clasped in Harry’s. “Oh, god, sorry to interrupt your conversation!” she said, looking between the two of them apologetically.

Louis leaped on the opportunity to separate Harry from everyone else before his head exploded. “No, it’s all good, Lots! We should get back to mum. Let’s go, Zee,” Louis said, grabbing both of them by the arm and steering them away. Zayn looked at him quizzically but nodded. “Yeah, okay. Good to meet you, Harry,” he said.

When Lottie heard that, her mouth popped open and she snapped her head back to Harry. “You’re Harry!” she blurted out before she could stop herself, and Louis shot her a look that could have curdled milk. She flushed slightly and said,“I mean, sorry—I’m Lottie. Tomlinson. Lou’s sister.” 

Before anyone could say anything else, Louis cut in. “Right. Well. We should go,” he blurted out, before gesturing to Lottie and Zayn and turning to go, leaving Harry standing there with his hand still outstretched.

“Well, that wasn’t awkward at all,” Zayn deadpanned as the three of them walked down the sidelines toward Jo and the other girls. “Not another word, either of you,” Louis said warningly as he heard Lottie and Zayn dissolve into hushed giggles behind him.

“Lou, he’s fucking hot,” Lottie informed him once she’d stopped laughing. “Seriously, props.” Louis rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, he’s very fit. Now, mum is standing right there so if you don’t shut up now, I’ll tell her about your bellybutton piercing.” Lottie looked outraged. “You pinky swore, you son of a—.” 

She was interrupted by Jay, who walked up to them and said, “Picture time, boys! Zayn, your mum made me promise to get a shot of you and Louis! And then I want one with Louis and the girls! And I found Liam as well, so we’ll definitely want one with the three of you; the roommates!” she beamed fondly.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, Louis had posed for photos with practically every combination of his mum and sisters and best mates until his mum was finally satisfied. “These are great! Thanks, boys!” she said, scrolling through her phone to look at the pictures she’d just taken. 

“I’ll text this one to the three of you!” she said, holding out her phone to show a photo of Liam, Louis, and Zayn smiling happily with their arms around each other. Louis nodded vaguely, deciding not to ask how his mum had Liam and Zayn’s cell phone numbers.

Louis’ mum looked down at her phone again and swore to herself. “Bugger! Our train leaves in half an hour!” she said, looking up. “We’ll need to get a cab now if we’re going to make that.” Louis pulled each of his sisters into a final hug and kissed his mum on the forehead. “Thanks again for bringing everyone down,” he said quietly. She smiled and pushed a strand of hair back behind his ear. “Wouldn’t have missed it, darling. I’m so proud of you, BooBear. You seem happy.” 

She gave him a peck on the cheek and then turned to her daughters. “Oi, you lot! We’ve got a train to catch! Off we go!” before leading them off the pitch, turning to wave to Louis as she went. 

On his walk back to the flat, Louis briefly reflected on the events of the last couple hours. He thought about the game and seeing his family and Harry, and he realized that he was grinning like an idiot. His mum had been right. He was happy. Sure, he felt like his worlds were colliding and he was rapidly losing control of every aspect of his life, but he also felt like that might not be the very worst thing in the world.

As soon as he let himself in to the apartment, he was bombarded by Ed, Olly, and Liam. They had showered and changed while he was wishing his family farewell, and they were now sprawled out in the living room reliving their personal highlights from the match.

“Lou! You’re back!” Liam called cheerfully. “C’mon and have a beer with us!” Louis felt positively disgusting, like the dried sweat on his face was permanently caked there. He promised that he would be in right after he changed, then he locked himself in the bathroom for a long, steaming hot, and absolutely heavenly shower. He rejoined the others, who by that point had ordered pizzas, and the four of them spent a lazy afternoon playing FIFA and gloating about their win. 

 

At around 7:30 in the evening, about the time they had finished the last of the 12-pack that Olly and Ed had picked up on their way over, Ed pointed out that they were supposed to hosting an afterparty for about 50 people and they had just consumed the last of the alcohol in the flat. 

“Liquors is closing soon, mates,” he said, checking his watch. Their neighborhood liquor store, simply called Liquors, was owned by an elderly Iranian man and his son who sometimes gave the lads a discount when they bought loads of booze for occasions like this one.

“Right you are,” Louis said. “I say we each buy three big handles and everyone on the team can cough up a tenner for them and whoever they bring. Fair?” The other boys nodded, and they all zipped up their coats and tromped out of the flat and into the chilly night air. 

After they’d gotten enough alcohol to intoxicate a small army, Liam insisted on stopping at Tesco to get party snacks. “Jesus, Li, this isn’t your 11th birthday sleepover,” Ed teased. 

Liam didn’t waver. “Everyone likes food. And it’s rude not to have any,” he said matter-of-of-factly. So they had spent half an hour loading a cart with junk food and arguing about the merits of salt and vinegar versus barbecue crisps. 

“Those bitches are paying us back for this,” Louis grumbled as he fished some cash out of his wallet. “Team mom over here can go round and collect money from people tonight,” Olly said, elbowing Liam and making the other two roar with laughter. 

 

Back at the flat, they found Zayn stretched out on the couch in his boxers, smoking a bowl and reading Kant with those absurd reading glasses of his perched on the edge of his nose. Louis was in no way attracted to Zayn, but even he felt a flip of arousal in his gut when he walked in the room and Zayn looked up at them with a slightly stoned version of The Smolder.

Louis glanced over at Liam and saw him giving Zayn a slack-jawed, slightly bewildered look, as if he was deciding whether or not Zayn was actually real. Then he abruptly turned into the kitchen to start putting away all of their purchases. 

“Hullo,” Zayn said glumly as the other boys entered the room and plopped down on chairs. “Hey, Zee!” Louis replied. “You’re looking rather morose.” Zayn nodded pensively. “Yeah, just thinking about free will and stuff,” he said vaguely. 

Olly and Ed looked at each other and Louis could tell they were fighting back laughter. Louis nodded seriously and perched next to Zayn on the sofa. “Oh, yeah? Have any illuminating realizations?”

Zayn, not realizing that Louis was having him on, said, “Well, that’s the thing, isn’t it? How can you realize anything when there’s no such thing as truth?” At this, Olly and Ed lost it, dissolving into giggles. Louis chuckled too and Zayn glowered at them.

“Oh, Zee. So misunderstood,” Louis chirped, ruffling his hair. “Fuck off,” he mumbled, shooing him away and returning to his book. “You better look alive, man. People are gonna start getting here in like and hour and you promised you would DJ, remember?” Louis asked him. 

Zayn hummed noncommittally, not looking up from his book. “Zayn Javadd Malik. Do not fuck us over on this one.” Louis said threateningly. Zayn looked up at him briefly. “Yeah, okay,” he mumbled and Louis beamed. “That’s why you’re my best mate!” he said, clapping Zayn on the shoulder. “We’re best mates because no one else would put up with your shit,” Zayn informed him drily. Olly and Ed cackled at that. “He’s right, mate,” Ed said. 

“Now. Zayn, why don’t you put some clothes on and then all of us can take a shot, eh?” Ed suggested with a wide grin. Zayn wandered into his room and returned a moment later looking like a fucking model in black jeans and a plain black t-shirt. 

It was just fucking unfair, honestly, Louis thought to himself as the five of them knocked back their first round of shots. Liam apparently thought so too, as he was currently looking at Zayn like he was a cheeseburger and Liam hadn’t eaten in three days.

An hour later, they had set up a bar on the kitchen counter, pushed the furniture to the edges of the living room, and Zayn was crouched behind the kitchen table plugging a speaker into his laptop. Before long, their team members started to filter into the flat, greeting the hosts and setting their own alcohol and mixers on the counter. 

By 10 o’clock, the common space of their flat was packed and the sound of the bass thudding competed for dominance with the uproarious laughter of the guests. Not only did the entire team turn up, but it seemed they had all brought multiple people. 

As Louis bounced around the room from group to group, he felt the alcohol and the music and the crowd and the tired-satisfied sensation of victory combine to make everything pleasantly hazy.

Around 10:15, he started checking his watch every few minutes and scanning the room. Harry had said he’d be here and Louis was getting impatient. With every drink Louis consumed, his desire to grind his ass against Harry to the beat of one of Zayn’s excellent remixes grew stronger. 

Finally, because he was drunk and weak and couldn’t fucking control himself, Louis slipped into his bedroom and dialed Harry. “Hi, Lou,” Harry greeted him, voice low and slow. “Hullo, Harold,” Louis replied slightly breathlessly. “Nick and I are heading over to yours now. Sorry it took so long. We had a few drinks at this pub beforehand and it took a little longer than we thought.” 

Louis momentarily felt like his blood had been replaced with ice water. Harry’s repeated use of the term “we” didn’t sit well with him, nor did the slight slur of his words. “Well, hurry up,” he said, making his voice go high and raspy because he knew it drove Harry crazy. “M’horny and I miss you.” 

Without waiting for a reply, he rung off, slipping his phone back in his pocket and venturing back into the fray. That should speed things along a bit, he thought to himself smugly.

 

Sure enough, Harry arrived with Nick in tow less than five minutes later. Louis saw Harry say something to Nick. Nick frowned slightly and then nodded before scanning the room, spotting Niall taking a shot with Perrie and Zayn, and walking over to the group. 

Harry strode straight up to Louis and slipped a hand around his waist. “Hullo,” he murmured, dipping his head down so that he was speaking in Louis’ ear. Louis was tipsy enough that this didn’t mind that they were in the middle of the living room and everyone that he knew was there. 

Harry looked around the room with interest. “This isn’t what I imagined your flat would look like,” he mused. Louis snorted. “Yeah, well usually there aren’t a fuck-ton of people here, are there?” Harry laughed too, pulling Louis closer to him in a tight hug and resting his chin on the top of Louis’ head for a moment. 

When he pulled back, Louis grinned and said, “What was that for?” Harry didn’t say anything for a moment, just looked at him with those almond-shaped, almost feline green eyes. Then he said, “Just happy—for you. Y’know, with the match and all.” Louis smirked at him. “You should be happy we won. Because that means you’re most definitely getting lucky tonight.” 

At that moment, they were interrupted by Niall and Nick. Niall threw an arm around each of their shoulders. “Hope I’m not interrupting anything, lads!” Harry rolled his eyes. “Like you care,” he replied. Niall cackled. “True, true. Anyways, Pez told me to bugger off so she can hang out with her friends for a bit,” he motioned to where Perrie was engrossed in a conversation with Ed’s girlfriend, Ellie.

“So we thought we’d see what you two knob-heads are up to,” he concluded. Louis snickered and marveled at how Niall, someone he had met just three times now, could call him a knob-head and it be endearing rather than insulting.

 

Louis turned to Nick. “So, Nick. Harry tells me you’re an artist. I’ve seen the painting you did for him. It’s really lovely.” Nick grinned. “Thanks, mate. That’s actually one of my favorites,” he said, smiling at Harry. “Gave it to Hazza as a graduation gift.” 

Louis ignored the twisting in the pit of his stomach and smiled back. “Nice! Wish I was one of those creative types. But I can’t draw for shit, sadly. Did you study art in school?” Nick nodded. 

“I was down for Eton, y’know my dad and granddad both went, but two years in I decided that it wasn’t really my thing. So I left and travelled around for a bit. Then I went to Royal College of Art. My family are all in banking, so they weren’t too happy at first, but they’ve come round.” 

Louis had to suppress an eye roll. Of course Nick had been down for Eton. And of course his family was all fancy, upper crustbanker types. And of course he’d gone to the Royal College of Art, which was literally the best art school in the world. It made total sense, with Nick’s posh accent and his ridiculous clothes and his fucking quiff.

Harry cut in. “Nick is brilliant! You should see some of his other stuff, Lou!” he said eagerly. “And the gallery he’s working in is super interesting. Nick’s overseeing a special exhibition there. It’s a really big deal,” he finished, beaming at Nick. “Really?” Louis asked, trying his best to sound friendly and interested. 

Nick smiled at Harry in a way that made Louis want to punch him in the face or jump out the window or both, all warm and fond and so fucking obvious. “Harry’s just being nice,” he said. “It’s not actually such a big thing.” Harry chuckled and hip-bumped him. “Stop being modest, Grimmy!” he exclaimed. 

 

“Right,” Louis interrupted, frankly not giving a fuck that he was being rather rude. “Shots, anyone? I’d love a fucking shot.” Niall, Nick, and Harry looked up at him and nodded. 

They walked into the kitchen, where the different bottles were all lined up on the counter.Niall looked at the selection. “Good spread,” he told Louis, sounding rather impressed. “Cheers, mate. Pick your poison, lads,” Louis said, passing out cups. 

His eyes lit up when they landed on a bottle of Cuervo that someone had brought along. He made eye contact with Harry and held up the bottle. Harry smirked and nodded, reaching into a bowl that was sitting on the counter and fishing out two lime wedges.

Louis picked up the salt shaker and traipsed over to Harry, bracketing him against the counter, then standing on his toes and pulling Harry’s hair gently to tilt his head. 

Louis took entirely too much pleasure in feeling Nick’s eyes on both of them as he licked his way up Harry’s neck and sprinkled salt on the skin there. Harry shuddered slightly. “Thought that was supposed to go on my arm,” he breathed. 

“This way’s more fun,” Louis murmured, tipping his own head to the side and exposing the column of his neck. “Now, you do me,” he said, staring at Harry suggestively. Harry didn’t need telling twice. He slipped an arm around Louis’ waist and ducked his head, licking a long, slow stripe up his neck and taking the salt to shake some where his mouth had just been. 

“On three then,” Louis grinned. Harry counted them down and then they took turns licking the salt off each other’s necks and downing their shots and sucking on the lime wedges to chase the bitter bite of the tequila.

Louis looked up to see Niall staring at them bemusedly. “Get a room,” he deadpanned, before taking a second shot and leaving the kitchen, shaking his head. Louis cleared his throat. “Right. I’m gonna go, like—fraternize or whatever. Y’know, since I’m hosting and all. I’ll catch you both later.” He turned out of the kitchen and joined several of his team members in the hallway.

* * *

Louis was playing wingman to his mate Ashton, telling a girl he had brought to the party about how great he had been in the game that day. “The goal was totally sick,” he told her enthusiastically. “This one’s the fucking rookie of the year, no question about it,” he said, clapping Ashton on the shoulder.

He looked up from the conversation when one of Louis’ personal favorites from Harry’s sex playlist started blasting over the speakers. Louis smirked and looked around to see if he could catch Harry’s eye.

He spotted Harry in one corner of the living room absorbed in conversation with Nick. Harry was leaning against the wall and laughing while Nick leaned in and placed a hand on Harry's hip.

And that was fucking it. Before he was aware of having decided to do so, Louis had abandoned the group he’d been talking to and was crossing the room toward Harry and Nick. Harry looked up at him and his smile faded as he noticed the tense set of Louis’ shoulders and the cold, calculated way that he was eyeing the situation.

 “Let’s dance. Now,” Louis said flatly. He heard Harry saying, “Do you mind, Nick?” but he was already walking away toward the makeshift dance floor. He felt Harry follow him and he turned, placing a hand on Harry’s hip, hard enough to hurt a bit. 

Harry gasped in surprise, then he practically growled and slid closer, bridging the space between their bodies. Louis reached a hand into the hair at the back of Harry’s head and mashed their lips together. Harry tasted like tequila and weed. Louis pulled away. 

“Were you smoking?” he asked, and Harry smiled spacily. “Yeah, before I got here Nick and I—.” Louis cut him off, pulling him into another kiss, rougher this time. He looked up and saw, to his satisfaction, that Nick was watching from where he was standing across the room as he chatted with a very drunk Liam.

 

Then Louis turned back to Harry, who was looking a bit bewildered by Louis’ behavior. “What’s wrong, babe?” Louis murmured, pouting slightly. “Thought you were gonna wreck me tonight. Or were you just teasing?”

Harry’s expression darkened, eyes narrowing and mouth twisting in a wicked smile. Louis smirked in satisfaction. Harry couldn’t fucking resist a challenge. He grabbed Louis' hips and turned Louis around so that he was plastered to Louis’s back, their hips moving together slowly.

Louis sighed happily and looped one arm around the back of Harry’s neck, tangling his hand loosely in Harry’s long curls. “That better?” Harry asked lowly, his lips tracing a path up the side of Louis’s neck as they both moved to the beat of the song.

In answer, Louis ground down hard against Harry, who hissed and pushed back languidly, large hands on Louis’ hips holding him close. Louis could tell that Harry was hard, could feel it every time Harry pushed against him.

“He fancies you,” Louis said after a while. “Who does?” Harry asked breathlessly, bucking his hips up against Louis’ ass. “Nick. Obviously,” Louis replied. Harry laughed. “C’mon, Lou. Don’t be stupid. Course he doesn’t.” 

Louis turned around then, so that their hips were lined up. He rutted forward and slid a hand down the small of Harry’s back to his ass. “M’not being stupid,” he insisted. “It’s true.” 

Harry stared down at him, eyes dark because his pupils were so blown. “You’re jealous,” he said, his voice low and raspy. Louis didn’t say anything, instead tilting his head up to nip the skin of Harry’s neck. Harry moaned in his ear, high and breathy and fucking indecent. 

Louis rutted against him again, harder than before so that he could feel the hard line of his dick through his jeans. Then he pulled back. “There. Now go on back to Nick,” he smirked,giving Harry a light smack on the ass before turning on his heel and crossing the room to where Zayn and Liam were taking shots. 

* * *

Louis quickly realized that everyone was too drunk, completely fucking pissed, and the party was quickly devolving into a huge shitshow. Perrie and Niall were attempting to shotgun beers in the kitchen, spraying malty foam all over the place; an uproarious game of King’s Cup had started at the kitchen table; and Louis could smell weed somewhere. It was all too much and suddenly the room seemed to shrink, becoming even more overcrowded and swelteringly hot. 

“Fire escape,” he said to Zayn and Liam, and both of them nodded immediately. The three of them crossed the living room without another word and climbed out the window onto their flat’s fire escape. Thankfully, everyone else was too trashed to take any notice of their disappearance. Zayn lit a cigarette and they stood in silence, relishing the biting cold against their faces.

 

After a few moments, a blonde head poked out the window, nearly giving Louis a heart attack. “Budge up, mates,” came Niall’s voice, his Irish accent even stronger in his inebriated state. He heaved himself onto the narrow landing and then stepped to the side to allow another person through. It was Harry.

He swore as he banged his knee on the window-sill and then tried his best at a graceful recovery, swinging his other long leg through the window. “Very smooth,” Zayn observed, and the rest of them roared with laughter. “We saw you lot climbing through the fuckin’ window and figured we’d have a look-see,” Niall explained as he pulled a joint out of his pocket and lit up.

“Well, here you have it,” Louis gestured around grandly. “This is where the magic happens.” The other four chuckled softly, and then fell into a comfortable silence. Harry noticed Louis shivering a bit and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, rubbing up and down one of his arms.

If he had been sober, Louis would have told himself that this was a bad idea, that he shouldn’t feel this comfortable integrating Harry into his friend group, that Harry probably shouldn’t even be here at all because this whole night was breaking every single one of the fucking rules. But Louis was drunk and he was tired and he was just really grateful that Harry was here.

Zayn was eventually the one to break the silence. “So. How the fuck are we going to get all these people out of our flat?” he asked. Liam snorted. “Jesus, Zee. We can’t just order them to leave.” Zayn raised an eyebrow. “Maybe you can’t, Li. What with you being such a good person and all.”

He said it with an edge of playful derisiveness, but Liam beamed nonetheless. Louis felt Harry elbow his side. “Star crossed lovers,” Harry mouthed when they made eye contact. Louis burst out laughing and covered it up with a cough. 

 

After the five of them climbed back through the window, they looked around the room and Niall swore. The party was still in full swing, and the flat was an absolute disaster. There were cups everywhere and it looked like a deck of cards had exploded in the living room and there was a towel covering some mysterious stain in the hallway alcove and Louis saw a girl he didn’t know pouring a bottle of vodka into a guy’s open mouth, spilling most of it on the floor in the process. 

Louis’ head whipped to Liam, who was a neat freak and was probably going to completely lose his head over the state of their apartment. To his shock, Liam took in the mess, then shrugged and said, “Fuck it. Let’s go dance, Zayn.” 

Zayn gaped after him, looking as surprised as Louis felt. “Y’better go, mate,” Niall said seriously. Zayn practically ran after Liam and soon they were tangled together on the still-packed dance floor.

Niall looked at the pair with interest. “They’re cute,” he remarked. Then he turned and started collecting red plastic cups from the coffee table, stacking them on top of one another. “Got a rubbish bin around here somewhere, mate?” he asked Louis. 

Louis, who had been trying and failing to remember how many drinks he’d consumed that night, shrugged and led Niall to the kitchen, where he reached under the sink and pulled out a garbage bag. They spent the next 10 minutes wordlessly sweeping around the flat attempting to put a dent in the mess. 

At last, Louis said. “Thanksfor helping, man. But wouldn’t you rather go hang out with Perrie or something?” Niall shook his head. Nah, she left a little while ago. Besides“ —he shrugged— “it’s nice hanging out with you. You’re a good guy. Good for Harry, y’know?” Again, if Louis hadn’t been as drunk as he was, or if it hadn’t been Niall, who put up with zero percent anyone’s bullshit, Louis probably would have protested.

But instead he nodded and turned back to the living room to collect the last of the cups. But something stopped him in his tracks, and he spent several seconds frozen in the doorframe, staring stony-faced across the room.

Niall saw him out of the corner of his eye and looked up from the sink, where he was running water over a large bowl. Niall’s eyes flickered to Louis, then followed his gaze across the living room and onto the empty space that was serving as a dance floor. It only took him a moment to see what Louis was worked up about.

 

Harry and Nick were dancing to some remix of an upbeat 90’s song. Nick had a hand looped around Harry's waist and Louis was glaring daggers at them, his whole body tensed up; he had pushed himself to his full height like he was squaring up for a fight. 

Niall rolled his eyes and chuckled, making Louis whip his head around. “What?” he spat. “Dude,” Niall said. “You’ve got nothing to worry about.” Louis’ head automatically snapped back to where Harry was swaying to the music. He bit his bottom lip. “How do you know?” he asked Niall, hating himself for the naked pettiness in his voice. 

Niall laughed again. “Really, mate?” When Louis didn’t say anything Niall continued. “Listen,” he said, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “Harry’s my best mate. But even if he wasn’t, it would still be fucking obvious that he’s mad about you.” 

Louis felt warm, blessed relief spreading out in the bottom of his stomach. “Really?” he asked. “Course. It’s always Louis this and Louis that, and he looks at you like you hung the fucking stars."

Niall rattled all of this off matter-of-factly then took a deep breath before continuing. “But he thinks you’re not that into him, even though I keep telling him that’s bullshit,” Niall said thoughtfully, speaking more to himself than to Louis. “You two really need to get your shit together,” he concluded.

Unfortunately, Nick had swept a strand of hair out of Harry's face and Louis' eyes flashed, ice blue and deadly. “Right,” he said absently. “I’m just gonna—.” He trailed off and walked out of the room, towards Harry and Nick. Niall chuckled and rolled his eyes. “Fuckin’ idiots,” he murmured to himself, setting the bowl by the sink to dry.

* * *

“Hi,” Louis said shortly, pivoting his body so that he was standing in between the two men. Harry looked up and beamed; Nick looked markedly less pleased to see him.

“Hi, Lou,” Harry said. “What’s up?” Louis slipped a possessive hand on the small of Harry’s back and turned to face Nick. “Yeah, so we’re actually starting to wind things down. It’s getting late and all, so people are starting to leave.” 

Nick looked around the room and took in the hordes of people still in the room very much not winding things down. “Right,” he said slowly. He turned to Harry, who was frowning. “Louis’ right. It’s late and we’re not all university students.” He glanced at Louis and smirked. 

“Anyways, I’ll see you next week, Haz.” Harry nodded slowly, still frowning and pulled Nick into a quick hug. “See you, Grimmy. Thanks for coming.” Nick nodded. “Yeah, yeah. Good to meet everyone. Thanks for having me, Louis,” he said politely, his tone just a bit forced. “Yeah, anytime,” Louis said stiffly. Nick turned and walked down the hallway out of the flat.

Louis turned to Harry. “Let’s go, Haz. Been dying to get my hands on you all fucking day.” Harry studied him for a moment. “I thought you were sending people home,” he said slowly. “Oh, yeah. Liam’s gonna take care of it,” Louis said carelessly. 

Harry glanced over to where Liam was still dancing with Zayn. Before he had time to say anything, Louis had slipped his hand into Harry’s and leaned forward to nibble on his earlobe. “C’mon,” he whispered. “M’so hard. So fucking hot for you.” He set off toward his bedroom and Harry followed.

 

Harry started stripping as soon as he’d closed the door behind them. “That was rude, Louis,” Harry murmured shucking his shirt over his head and tossing it aside. There was something very purposeful and controlled about the way that Harry was taking off his clothes, like the eerie and foreboding calm before a deadly storm. 

“What are you talking about?” Louis asked him, feigning ignorance. “You were rude to my friend,” Harry stated matter-of-factly. He was just in his pants now, and Louis could see how hard he was even through his boxers.

Harry’s voice was soft and silky, but there was a sharp edge to his words. And the look he was giving Louis made him shiver with a mixture of trepidation and excitement. “I was not,” he said half-heartedly.

“You were rude to my friend,” Harry repeated, “because you were jealous.” Louis didn’t respond to that, just kept on staring at Harry, who had taken a deliberate step toward him. 

“Weren’t you, Louis?” he asked, taking another step forward. When Louis didn’t say anything, Harry bridged the space between them and kissed him rough and bruising. He quickly moved to Louis’ neck and sucked hard, hard enough to leave a mark. “Answer me,” Harry demanded in something approaching a growl. 

“Fuck, uh, yeah. I—I was. Jealous. Fucking drove me crazy watching you dance with him. Watching him touch you,” Louis blurted out, beyond caring how fucking desperate he sounded.

Harry looked at him for a moment, face inscrutable. Then he grabbed Louis by the waist and brought their mouths back together. The kiss was sloppy and frantic, and Louis felt like he might die if it ever stopped. But at the same time, he felt like he might die if he didn’t have more right this instant. 

He arched against Harry thrust his hips forward, slipping his hands into the waistband of Harry's pants. Harry twisted out of his grasp. “Not so fast, Lou,” he rasped. “Not till I get you naked.”

 

He pushed Louis onto the mattress and crawled in between his legs, kissing him languidly while he slowly removed each article of Louis’ clothing. “Spread your legs, babe,” he instructed gently. 

Louis did as he was told and soon Harry’s big hands were pushing his thighs up and apart. “You’ve got such nice thighs,” Harry murmured appreciatively, kneading the muscles with his hand and leaning down to press several light kisses to his inner thighs, making him shiver. A few moments later, Louis felt Harry’s hands slip down his legs to his ass, spreading his cheeks apart. 

“What are you—,” he began, but he stopped speaking and shuddered violently when Harry bent forward and licked a broad stripe over his hole. “Is this okay?” he asked, straightening up to look Louis in the eyes. 

Louis nodded violently. “God, yeah,” he said wildly. Harry grinned and buried his head between Louis’ legs again. After a few light, slow strokes, Harry licked in deeper, making sloppy sucking sounds. 

It was absolutely obscene and overwhelmingly fucking hot, the way Harry was going at it. The whole thing was made even filthier by the fact that Louis could still hear the sounds of some Drake song and muffled laughter coming from right outside his closed bedroom door. It was a sensory overload and Louis thought that he might actually start sobbing at how good it felt, warm and wet and fucking perfect.

When he’d started making choked moaning noises, Harry replaced his mouth with two of his fingers. When he’d added a third and stretched Louis out for a few more minutes, Louis jerked his hips up and whined, “Please, Harry.” Harry stared at him. 

“Please what?” he asked. “Tell me what you want, Louis. Wanna hear you say it." Louis moaned as Harry hit his prostate with his fingers. “Please—God, please fuck the shit out of me,” he groaned. Harry pulled off his pants and palmed his cock. 

“Condom?” he asked, reaching out his hand. Louis grasped wildly into his bedside table drawer and fished around for a bit before finding what he was looking for, tossing it to Harry and laughing breathlessly when it hit him on the cheek.

Harry sunk down so that the back of his legs were resting on his heels and he pulled Louis down the mattress toward him. He eased in slowly, throwing back his head and letting out a low groan. 

As he came ten minutes later, Louis sunk his teeth into Harry’s shoulder-blade and panted, “Mine.” As soon as the word was out of Louis’ mouth, Harry moaned loudly and grabbed a fistful of Louis’ hair as his whole body tightened and he spilled into the condom.

After they had both come down, Louis felt Harry shifting beside him, like he was about to get out of the bed. “No, don’t go,” he murmured unhappily. “Stay,” he mumbled, and he hummed in satisfaction when he felt Harry sinking back down onto the mattress, curling into Louis’ side and tracing lines over Louis’ bare back until Louis drifted off to sleep.


	11. 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> switching things up a bit w this one...part of me thinks this is one of the best chapters so far and another part of me is not quite sure, so full disclosure i might make a few changes...anyways, i really hope y'all like it!!
> 
> let me know in the comments! ;))

“Lou, we’re about to be the cutest fucking couple at this corn-maze. Like, I’m going to romance the fuck out of you!” Louis looked up from the books he’d been shelving with an eyebrow raised. “Is that so?” he asked drily. “And you’re sure that Niall wouldn’t have anything to say about that?”

Perrie cackled and waved her hand carelessly. “Please. I just use Niall for his body. Thought you knew that.” Louis snorted. “Seriously, though. Y’sure Niall won’t be jealous that I’m whisking you away for a magical day of autumnal romance?” he teased. She laughed again. “Ni wouldn’t know autumnal romance if it bit him in the ass,” she shrugged as stretched her legs over the arm of her chair. 

She and Louis were in the small upstairs reading room of the bookshop, and Perrie was “studying” while Louis restocked the poetry section. In reality, they were both gossiping and making plans for their “date” that weekend more than doing any actual work. 

 

Every so often, Perrie would drag Louis into some completely random activity and the two of them would jaunt around York and the surrounding area being as ridiculous as humanly possible. 

In the past couple of years, they had gone to a renaissance festival (he had no idea how Perrie had convinced him into that one), York’s chocolate museum (yes, that’s actually thing and it was delicious), and the opera (they had seen Madame Butterfly and Louis had cried and then sworn Perrie to eternal secrecy.)

This time, Perrie had outdone herself. The day before, she had announced that they were going to the famous York Maze, a massive corn-maze a bit outside the city that hosted special events during the fall. “Autumn's’s your favorite, Lou. You know I like to cater to my little snuggle bunny,” she cooed mockingly, pinching Louis’ cheek as he mimed throwing up in the nearest waste-basket. 

It was true, though. Louis loved autumn and all of the corny shit that came along with it. So he had only grumbled a bit before he bought a ticket to the maze for that Saturday. Truthfully, he was looking forward to getting off campus for a day of drinking homemade apple cider and getting lost in the maze and eating more cornish pasties than he could count. 

Perrie snapped him out of his autumnal reverie a moment later by throwing a kernel of the popcorn she’d been eating at his head. 

“What about you?” she asked. He scowled at her and bent to pick up the popcorn. “What about me?” he replied after he’d chucked it in the bin. “You don’t think Harry wishes he could whisk you away for a romantic autumn adventure? I bet he loves that kind of shit.” Louis snorted. “Yeah, because I’m about to take my fuck buddy on a romantic autumn adventure.” 

Perrie raised an eyebrow. “So you’re still in denial about that whole thing, then?” she asked. “Don’t know what that’s supposed to mean,” Louis said. “Dude. It means that you two are the furthest thing from fuck buddies and we both know it.” 

Louis dropped the book he’d been shelving and cursed under his breath as he fumbled to retrieve it. “Not true,” he responded flatly as he straightened back up. 

Perrie seemed to notice the edge of finality in his tone and decided not to press it further. “Right. Well. You know I’ll want our outfits to coordinate on Saturday for maximum autumn Instagram magic. Shall we go with burgundy or grey jumpers?” Louis rolled his eyes. “I will wear matching outfits when hell freezes over.” 

 

It was Friday morning and Louis had just finished a long run when he got a FaceTime from Perrie. He swiped the screen to accept the call and held his phone in front of his still-red and sweaty face. “Hi, Pez,” he said huffed as he buzzed into his building and walked into the lobby. 

Perrie’s face popped up on the screen and Louis winced, taken aback by the dark purple circles under her eyes and greenish pallor of her usually radiant skin. “You look like shit,” he remarked. “Wow, Lou. Y’really know how to make a girl feel special,” she said before sneezing violently. 

“I meant it in like, a concerned friend kind of way,” Louis explained as he took the stairs to his flat two at a time. “Right,” she said. “Anyhow, I’m calling with bad news, I’m afraid.” 

“You’re sick and can’t go tomorrow?” he guessed, and she grimaced. “Sorry, Lou. Usually I’d try and power through it, but I think it’s strep throat and I feel like death.” Louis shook his head. “Yeah, no, you shouldn’t go if you’re sick.” Perrie pouted. “I’m so sorry, Lou.” 

“Nah, it’s fine. I’ll just stay here and get ahead on some work.” Perrie frowned. “Louis. You paid 22 pounds for those tickets. We both know that you’re too stingy to just not go.” 

Louis chuckled. “I think that going to a corn-maze by myself would be both creepy and sad,” he said. “Liam has plans and Zayn would die a thousand deaths before he agreed to go on a hayride.” 

 

At that moment, Niall’s face popped up in the center of the screen. “About that,” he said in way of greeting. “We’ve decided that you’re taking Harry,” he announced, grinning mischievously.

Louis quirked an eyebrow. “Have you now?” he asked. Niall’s grin widened as he nodded. “Yep,” he replied. “I happen to know he’s got nothing to do tomorrow, and that bloke really does need to get out more. It’s perfect!” 

“Yeah, except for the fact that it’s not happening,” Louis said. Niall didn’t say anything to that, just stared at him, head tilted and light blue eyes widened quizzically. After a few seconds, Louis sighed and continued. 

“Listen, mate. Harry and I—he—well, he wouldn’t want to do that type of thing. It’d be like—.” He didn’t finish his sentence, because he was a coward who couldn’t make himself say that words “a date.” 

But that’s exactly what it would be. And that was completely, ridiculously against the rules. For a split second, Louis let himself imagine wandering around the maze with Harry, the two of them eating apple cider doughnuts in the back of a truck on the way to a pumpkin patch, holding hands while they sat beside a roaring bonfire, and his heart literally ached with this strange combination of fondness and longing. Which didn’t change the fact that it wasn’t happening. 

He laughed shakily and shook his head. “I—no, I don’t think that’s a good idea, Ni.” Niall gave Louis a long, probing look, and then matter-of-factly said, “Right. Well, just text him when you change your mind.” Then he turned to Perrie. 

“Anyways, we’ve gotta go so Pez can eat the soup I made her,” he said, beaming proudly. “Don’t look so pleased with yourself,” Perrie said drily. “You opened a can and poured it into a bowl.” Louis laughed as Niall’s grin deflated. 

He turned to Louis. “Remind me of this moment next time I try and nurse her back to health, Lou.” Louis laughed. “Will do. I’m gonna go shower now. See you later, Niall. Feel better, Pez,” he said before ringing off.

Several hours later, as he and Liam bustled around the kitchen making dinner, Louis was still thinking about what Niall had said earlier: “We’ve decided you’re taking Harry.” So simple and straight-forward. Like it was no big deal, asking Harry on a fucking date. 

But Louis had been thinking. It didn’t really have to be a date, did it? Like, two friends would totally go to a corn-maze together, right? And he and Harry were friends. Friends who just happened to be sleeping together.

So maybe this wasn’t technically against the rules. Maybe this could just be two friends enjoying some fall festivities in each other’s company. There was nothing romantic or inherently date-y about that, was there?

All of Louis’ pathetic mental gymnastics were taking up most of the space in his brain and, as a result, he was rather less talkative than usual as the boys cooked. “Everything okay, Lou?” Liam asked him after several minutes of heavy silence. “Seems like something’s on your mind.” 

Louis looked up. “Yeah, all good. It’s just—okay. Hypothetical question: if you were hooking up with someone and then they asked you to do something with them one-on-one, would it freak you out? Like, would you think of it as a date or something?”

Liam’s expression softened, and Louis knew that Liam had realized his question was anything but hypothetical. “Lou, you’re not going to freak Harry out.” 

Louis flushed and blurted out, “You don’t know that, though! I just—I don’t want to fuck this up. I don’t wanna scare him away by acting like an idiot.”  What Louis didn’t say was that he had gone down that road before, had put himself out there like a complete fool and had paid for it.

Liam stared at him for a long moment before replying. When he did, his tone was cautious. “I don’t think that would fuck things up between you guys. But it also doesn’t have to be a big deal if you don’t make it a big deal. It doesn’t have to be a date if you don’t want it to be.” Louis nodded slowly. “Right, okay,” he replied. “Thanks, Li.”

That settled it. Perrie had been right. He was a cheap-skate at heart and the idea of wasting more than 20 pounds was physically painful. Plus, it didn’t have to be a big deal if he didn’t make it a big deal, just like Liam had said. Certainly didn’t have to be a date. 

So. He was going to text Harry. Right. Louis opened his text messages and scrolled down to Harry’s name. His fingers hovered over the screen for several seconds while he battled with the butterflies in his stomach. “Man up, Tomlinson,” he muttered to himself as he typed out the text message and took a deep breath before pressing send.

* * *

_Harry_

Harry’s phone vibrated against the bar where he’d set it, making a loud, unpleasant buzzing sound that made him jump. He glanced down and felt the familiar swooping in his stomach that always accompanied a text from Lou. Harry’s stomach did another backflip as he read the message. 

“Fancy going on an adventure tomorrow? On the odd chance you’re not busy already.” And that was definitely not what he’d been expecting. An adventure? What in the hell did that mean?

Without realizing he had done so, Harry pulled his bottom lip between his teeth as he reread the message and typed out his response. “Any chance you’re going to tell me what this adventure entails?” 

He held his breath when the three dots popped up at the bottom of his screen, indicating that Louis was typing. “And ruin the fun? No way. In or out?” 

Harry snorted and rolled his eyes at Louis’ typical cheekiness. “I’m game. Name the time and place,” he responded.

As he set his phone back down and took a long sip of his beer, he thought hard. What did Louis have in mind? Where were they going? 

Not that it really mattered, Harry thought to himself with a resigned sigh. He had accepted a long time ago that he would follow Louis straight off a bridge if he asked nicely. Because Louis Tomlinson made him totally fucking daft.

 

Something about Lou just completely disarmed him. Of course he was beautiful with his piercing blue eyes and sharp, angular cheekbones and feathery brown hair that swept across his forehead like a fucking model.

But he was also sharp and witty and a little ridiculous and always surprising. Harry never knew what he was going to say or do next, and he thought that maybe that was why Lou was so fucking irresistible. 

He lived his life in real time and he had absolutely no filter, reacting to things right as they happened without worrying what anyone else thought. And when Harry was with him, he felt like he could do the same; that boundless energy and impulsiveness was contagious, infectious, intoxicating.

What’re you smirkin’ about?” Niall asked from the barstool beside him. Harry looked up and wiped the stupid grin off his face. “It’s—Lou’s asked me to hang out tomorrow. Some kind of surprise adventure or something,” he replied, feeling the smile creeping back onto his face as he spoke.

At this announcement, Niall’s expression shifted from confusion to something almost like triumph. “Finally gonna go on a proper date like normal people, then?” he asked before swigging from his own pint. Harry shook his head on impulse. “M’sure it’s not like that,” he murmured, ducking his head a bit. “Y’know how Lou is.”

Niall nodded sagely. “The whole ‘let’s act exactly like we’re in a relationship while insisting that we’re not actually in a relationship‘ routine? Yeah, I know.” Harry frowned. “It’s not like that. He just—.” Harry didn’t finish his sentence. Because the truth was, he had no clue what Louis’ deal was. 

Harry knew that Louis was skittish; he knew that Lou was reluctant to put labels on their relationship; he knew that he had to be careful, because he could sense that Lou was always on the edge of running away. 

But he couldn’t figure out why. Did Lou not want a relationship, or did he not want a relationship with Harry? It was a question that drove Harry mad and kept him up at night and made him want to pull his fucking hair out.

Because even though he hadn’t the foggiest idea what Lou wanted, Harry knew exactly what he wanted. He’d known since that rainy afternoon more than a month ago when Lou had come over to his flat the first time. Hell, he’d probably known since that day he’d walked into Coleman’s class for the first time and seen that familiar set of electric blue eyes land on him. 

Harry wanted Louis. He wanted to do all of the things that they already did as far as the amazing sex went, but he also wanted to be able to text him without worrying about coming across as desperate or clingy; he wanted to kiss him just because; he wanted cook him dinner and wake up next to him and do so many other sickeningly saccharine things that you did when you were in a relationship. 

So Niall’s words stuck in his mind long after he’d refuted them. They taunted him, made him wonder: was this a date? His heart soared at the thought, before he sternly told it to settle down.Harry had decided a while ago that he wasn’t going to try and read too much into anything. 

Louis had wanted to keep things casual, so that’s what they were doing, and that was enough for him; it had to be. Of course, Niall liked to say that this was utter bullshit and that Harry and Louis were dating no matter what else they decided to call it. Harry knew that he kept Niall around for a good reason.

Lou texted back after a while with instructions to meet outside his flat at 10 o’clock the next morning. Harry had probed him for more information, but he’d been infuriatingly vague. The most he would say was, “Live a little, Harold. The surprise is half the fun. Might want to bring a jacket and hat though.” Harry smiled and shook his head. Lou was so irritating when he knew something you didn’t; Harry thought his heart might burst with fondness.

 

Harry looked down at his watch and saw that it was past 9. Niall polished off his pint and set it on the bar with a satisfying clunk. “Another round?” he asked once he’d wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Harry shook his head. “Sorry, mate. I’ve gotta be up early tomorrow. Nick and I are going for a run at half 7.” 

Niall snorted in disgust. “Half 7 on a Saturday? People like you are what’s wrong with the world,” he announced, shaking his head resignedly. Harry laughed. “I’m guessing that means you don’t want to join us?” he asked. “Yeah, no fucking way am I hauling my ass out of bed at the ass-crack of dawn to run circles around you gits,” he replied. “Besides, Nick probably wants some alone time with you,” he teased lightly. 

Harry’s eyes narrowed. “I thought we’d covered this already,” he said shortly. This whole thing about Nick fancying him had been one thing at the party when they had been drunk and Lou had been all hot and jealous and horny. But now it was starting to get on his nerves. 

Nick was one of his best friends and they’d known each other for well over a decade. Of course they were close. That didn’t mean that Nick was secretly pining after him or something.

Niall threw up his hands. “Hey, you think what you want, mate. But the fact is that Grimmy’s totally got the hots for you,” he said matter-of-factly. “Right, well,” Harry said curtly, fishing in his wallet for a tenner and slipping it across the bar. “Think that’s my cue.” 

He scooted the barstool back and eased off. “See you later, Ni,” he waved. “Yeah, yeah,” Niall replied. “And hey, have fun on your date! Give Lou my best!” he called after Harry’s retreating figure.

 

 

Twenty minutes later, Harry was back in his flat getting ready for bed. As he stripped down to his briefs and slipped into the bathroom to brush his teeth, his thoughts returned to Louis. 

Why did he have to be so inscrutable and infuriating? He was so hot and cold that Harry had trouble keeping track. L ike, there were times when Harry felt sure that Louis wanted more than just sex (as admittedly amazing as the sex was). 

Moments like the morning after the semi-finals afterparty, when Harry had woken up in Louis’ bed with the early morning sunlight streaming through the window, their bodies tangled together and Louis’ peaceful, steady breaths tickling the skin on the side of his neck. He had been stretched out on his back and Louis had curled into his side while they slept, his hand resting lightly on Harry’s chest. 

Harry had spent a good 20 minutes just laying there, enjoying how warm and nice and perfect it was. When Lou had finally woken up, he’d snuffled a bit and scrunched his nose in confusion when he felt another body in the bed. Then he’d opened his eyes and seen Harry and his face had melted into one of those big, satisfied smiles. “Hi,” he’d said almost shyly, leaning forward and pressing a light kiss to one of Harry’s collarbones.

But then there were times when Harry saw Lou withdrawing from him, putting up walls between them. Harry hadn’t missed how freaked out Louis had been about him being in close proximity to his family and friends during the match. Or how Lou never stayed the night at his place, always opting to head out immediately after they’d rolled off each other and caught their breath. It was bloody confusing. And Harry was tired of being confused.

“Then why are you doing this?” chimed a small, nagging voice in the back of his head. It was a question that Nick had asked him when Harry had first explained their arrangement, and it was a legitimate one. 

Because, as smitten as he was with Louis, Harry was tired of feeling yanked around. He was tired of tiptoeing around Lou's fears or hesitation or whatever the fuck was holding him back. He was tired of spending so much time and energy on a relationship that wasn't actually a relationship. So why was he still doing this? 

 

To understand the answer to that question, you had to understand something about Harry Styles. Harry had always been someone who had his shit together—with school and relationships and work and everything in his life. He was a planner. 

But being with Lou made him feel like he was flying by the seat of his pants. Louis knocked the air out of him with his lewd sense of humor and his surprising intellect and his big, crinkle-eyed smile that he only gave Harry when he was really pleased. 

Everything about him made Harry feel more acutely alive, and it was an addictive feeling. At that thought, Harry groaned and shook his head as he examined his reflection in the mirror, imagining the expression on Niall’s face if Harry ever vocalized these feelings in front of him. Jesus, he was such a sap. It was embarrassing, honestly.

He sighed and threw his hair into a little bun at the back of his head so he could wash his face before climbing into bed. He spent a few minutes responding to emails and updating the calendar on his phone to add a meeting he’d just made with one of his professors the next week. He scrolled through the next week and sighed. 

It was going to be even busier than usual. York’s graduate history program had turned out to be a good bit more rigorous than he’d thought it would be. Not that he was complaining; it had been a pleasant surprise. Harry liked busy, was good at busy. He made a note reminding himself to talk to Lou about rescheduling their Wednesday research session and flicked off the bedside lamp, settling down on his pillows and waiting for sleep to overtake him.

* * *

 Harry and Nick had first become friends when both of their mums forced them onto the track team back at the start of secondary school. Harry had been a painfully awkward 11-year old with knobbly knees and limbs too long for his body and Nick had been one of the most popular boys in their year. 

Rather than shun him, Nick had jogged up to Harry after the first practice and called, “Hey, Styles! You’ve got pretty good form! What events are you running?“ Harry had smiled nervously and murmured that he wasn’t sure yet. “Well, maybe we’ll be on a relay together,” Nick had said with a friendly grin. They had indeed been placed on the same relay team and soon, the two boys had been inseparable.

Now, they still made it a habit to go on runs together as often as they could when they were living in the same place.

That morning, Harry had suggested that the two of them meet at the Yorkshire Museum gardens. He may or may not have gotten the idea when Lou mentioned that it was a great running spot a couple weeks ago.

He had been right, of course. The museum grounds were stunning. They jogged a loop around the circumference of the park, then Harry proposed that they check out the ruins of an abbey he had read about in a medieval history class one year at Oxford.

“There used to be a huge, grand cathedral on this spot. And the richest abbey in northern England.” Harry told Nick enthusiastically as they weaved through the beautiful stone ruins. “But of course Henry VIII ordered the dissolution of the monasteries in the 16th century, and the cathedral was looted and partially destroyed.”

Nick chuckled. “I love how brainy you are, Haz,” he grinned. “Makes me feel pretty inadequate, though.” Harry rolled his eyes as they jogged back onto the path. “You’re basically Vincent Van Gogh and you feel inadequate because I read a lot of books? Yeah, okay.” Nick scoffed in mock indignation. “Vincent Van Gogh? I quite like having both ears, thanks very much, mate.”

 

“So. Breakfast?” Nick huffed twenty minutes later as they both slowed to a walk a block away from Harry’s flat. Harry checked his watch. “Sure. It’ll have to be a bit quick, though. I’ve got plans with Lou at 10 and I’ve still gotta shower and stuff.” 

Nick nodded absently. “Sure, sure. That diner down the street okay?” Harry gave a thumbs up and they headed towards the restaurant and a well-deserved greasy breakfast. “What are you up to for the rest of the day? You said you had plans,” Nick said once they’d been seated. Harry nodded and pushed the black Nike running headband he was wearing a bit further back on his head.

“Yeah, I’m not actually sure what we’re doing. Lou won’t tell me,” he grinned. Nick raised an eyebrow. “He won’t tell you?” he asked skeptically. “Bit childish, innit?” 

His tone was playful, but Harry detected a slight edge behind Nick’s words. He got the sense that Nick didn’t particularly care for Lou. He understood why; Nick and Louis were just about as different as it was possible for two people to be, and Lou hadn’t exactly been on his best behavior when they’d met. But it still made Harry sad that one of his best mates didn’t get on well with his…well, whatever Louis was. 

“No, it’s just the way Lou is. He’s—spontaneous,” Harry replied, realizing that he was grinning like a fool again. Nick made a noncommittal noise as he glanced down at his menu.

Not for the first time, Harry had the feeling that Nick didn’t want to talk about Louis. So he changed the subject by asking how things were coming along at the gallery. They spent the rest of the meal talking about work and school and how Nick was adjusting to life in York.

“I mean, it’s just not London, is it?” Nick sighed as he speared the last bite of his omelet with a fork and popped it into his mouth. “No, but living here has its perks, too. There’s something to be said for a smaller city? Kind of has more of a community feeling, y’know?” Harry offered. 

Nick shrugged. “I dunno, maybe it just takes getting used to. But I don’t think I could do it long-term, mate,” he concluded. “Well, have you met anyone? At work, maybe? Like, anyone you might be interested in?” Harry asked, lowering his voice conspiratorially at the last sentence. 

Nick gave him a strange look, kind of sad and hopeful at the same time. He didn’t say anything for several moments. Then he sighed and said, “No, I haven’t met anyone,” in a strangely loaded tone. 

“Well, maybe that could help!” Harry suggested brightly. “It definitely helped me, finding people I could hang out with. Y’know, Niall and—.” He paused and forced himself not to say Louis’ name. “And when you moved to town, of course,” he finished. 

Nick beamed at him. “Thanks, Haz. It’s good to be within 300 miles of you again, I have to say.” Harry felt a slight twisting in his stomach that felt oddly like guilt. Which made no sense. 

But still, the way that Nick was looking at him didn’t sit quite right. It was a significant look, focused and strangely tender. Niall’s words floated back to the front of his mind: “Grimmy’s totally got the hots for you.” 

Harry pushed the thought away a moment later. He was being ridiculous and vain and totally unfair to his friend. Harry shot Nick a weak grin and said, “Too true. I’ve missed having you around, mate.”

 

An hour later, Harry had showered and changed into black jeans, a faded red plaid button down, and his favorite brown shearling coat. As he stepped off his stoop and onto the street, he shoved his hands into his pockets and braced himself against the November chill.

They were on the fringes of autumn now, and every day York got just a bit colder. He set off toward Lou’s building and asked himself for the hundredth time what plan Louis had cooked up. 

Harry wasn’t the best with surprises; he generally liked to know what was coming his way so that he could plan accordingly and feel prepared. But Lou was the exact opposite. It was one of the things that made them such a good team with Coleman’s research. 

They worked in completely different ways and attacked problems from totally different angles, so they were constantly challenging each other, pushing each other to do better and argue better. 

So Harry sighed and resigned himself to the unknown as he rounded the corner onto Lou’s street. Outside the building, he checked the clock on his phone. It was 10 sharp and Louis was nowhere to be seen, which, truth be told, was unsurprising. 

After milling about for about five minutes smiling awkwardly at the people leaving the building, Harry pulled out his phone to shoot Lou a “hello, are you alive?” text. 

But before he could start typing, Louis bounded out of the building looking rather autumnal (in the hottest way possible, of course) in a burgundy sweater, cuffed black jeans that clung to his muscled thighs, and a slate grey beanie shoved over his feathery brown hair. 

“Hullo!” he exhaled, shooting Harry a slightly weary grin. “Sorry I’m late, hope I didn’t keep you waiting long! It’s just—well, Zayn’s in rare form with the Liam thing and I couldn’t get him to shut up.”

Harry burst out laughing at Lou’s usual brutal honesty. “All good, I’ve just been here a bit. So, are you going to tell me where we’re going, or have you brought a blindfold to keep me in suspense?”

Louis’ eyes sparkled. “Of course I’m not telling you until we get there! You hate surprises and watching you suffer brings me great joy,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Fine,” Harry groaned. “How are we getting wherever we’re going then?” At this, Lou’s smile slipped. “Right, that. I—uh, I think we can take the bus, but I’ll have to Google it and check,” he murmured, pulling his phone out of his pocket.

Harry examined Louis, his eyebrow quirked and his full lips twisted in an fond smile. Lou was staring down at his phone and typing furiously, his cheeks slightly pink and his tongue sticking a bit out of his mouth in concentration.

“Uh, Lou?” he asked gently. Louis’ head snapped up. “Yeah?” he said. “We can just take my car if you want,” Harry offered. Lou’s face lit up, blue eyes widening in amazement. “You have a car?” he asked with an almost childlike sense of wonderment.

* * *

“Any chance you’ve got an AUX cord in here?” Louis asked after they’d made the trek back to Harry’s building, he’d run back up to his flat to grab his keys, and they’d both buckled up.

“Yeah it’s—.” Harry reached across Louis to pop open the glove compartment. “In here,” he finished, fishing it out and handing it over. Louis fist-pumped before plugging in the cord and connecting his phone.

“Bit presumptuous, aren’t we?” Harry asked drily. “You drive and I DJ,” Louis replied. “An equitable arrangement if ever I’ve heard one.” Harry snorted. “Yeah, yeah,” he said. “Hey, put on some Elton John! In the mood for some Rocket Man?”

Louis rolled his eyes. “And this is why you’re not in charge of the music selection, Grandpa.” Harry scoffed. “I’m three years older than you, Lou,” he pointed out. “I hardly think 24 qualifies as geriatric.”

Louis hummed absently. “Whatever you say, old man,” he deadpanned. Harry tried to fix him with a withering glare, but it dissolved into a goofy grin when Lou stuck out his tongue and pulled a ridiculous face.

“I love your dimples,” Louis said offhandedly, brushing the spot in his cheek where his dimple popped. “Really? I hated them when I was younger. Always thought they made me look younger than I actually was.”

"Is that why you got all the sexy tattoos? Wanted to cultivate your bad boy image?” Louis asked. Harry laughed and shook his head.

“You’ve got Nick to thank for that, actually. One of his best mates is this brilliant tattoo artist and one night a few years back, we were all hanging ‘round, shooting the shit you know, and I just figured ‘what the hell?’ That’s how I ended up with this one,” he said, pulling his shirt to the side and gesturing to the phrase 17BLACK etched on his right shoulder.

"And then I just kind of started collecting them,” he shrugged.

“What’s 17 black?” Louis asked. “It’s Bond’s lucky roulette number, y’know? Nick and I were obsessed with the films for like three years straight. We must have seen them a dozen times,” he said wistfully, smiling at the memory. Lou’s smile had become slightly pinched. “Nice!” he said after a moment. “Right! Shall we, uh, head off, then?”

Harry snapped out of his trip down memory lane and rubbed his hands up and down his thighs. “Sir, yes, sir! Just tell me where to go, since I’m your loyal chauffeur and all.” 

Lou grinned and consulted his phone. “Okay, you’re gonna take a left turn out of here. It says we’re 20 minutes away.” As they pulled out of Harry’s parking space, Lou selected a song and a synth pop guitar riff started blasting through the speakers. 

Soon, Lou was yell-singing: "Where we go, nobody knows! We've got guns hidden under our petticoats!” at the top of his lungs.

Harry rolled his eyes. “That guy’s such a douche,” he said casually. “What guy?” Louis asked, only half-paying attention as he bobbed to the beat and did a drumbeat against the dashboard. 

“The singer in this band. Matt Healy.” Lou gaped at him, his eyes wide as saucepans. “Y-you know him?” he asked shakily. Harry nodded. “Met him at one of Nick’s parties a couple years ago. Y’know since they’re both arty types or whatever.” He rolled his eyes again. 

“Such an arrogant prat. Awful in bed.” Louis’ brows crinkled together in confusion. “Awful in bed? What’s that supposed to—you didn’t—you’re not saying that you fucked Matt Healy?” he demanded, jerking his whole body toward Harry so suddenly that the AUX cord was ripped from its plug and the and the car went silent. 

Harry just smirked with his eyes on the road. Louis’ eyes went even wider. “No way. No fucking way. I’m calling bullshit,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. “No, it’s true!” Harry laughed. “You can ask Nick! He still makes fun of me for it—calls me a groupie.”

Louis laughed wildly. “Jesus, Harry! I—holy shit! He’s like, my favorite singer. Literally at the top of my celebrity fuck list.” Harry chuckled wryly. “Your celebrity fuck list? Do I even want to know?”

Louis ignored that and proceeded to pepper him with questions for the next ten minutes. “What was he like? Do you have his number? Does he have a big dick?” Finally, Lou sighed deeply.

“And here I was thinking you couldn’t get any fitter. Then I find out you run round fucking rockstars. God, I can’t even imagine how hot you must have looked together,” he said wistfully.

Harry grinned roguishly. “You would have wanted to watch, would you?” he asked, his voice going huskier.

“Watch, join in, whatever. In that scenario, I’d pretty much take what I could get,” Louis said matter-of-factly, shrugging his shoulders.

Which completely ruined the whole sexy, dirty talk thing Harry had been going for and made him burst out laughing. “You’re absurd,” he informed Lou drily. “Now, which way am I turning here?” 

 

A bit over half an hour and about three wrong turns later, Louis announced that they were nearly there. They were driving on an empty backroad and Harry was starting to worry that Lou’s GPS was going haywire. “You’re sure this is right?” he asked doubtfully.

“Yes, of course it’s right! Geez, Harold, have a little faith.” A moment later, Louis whooped with glee. “We’re here!” It’s there, on the right!” Harry swung a right and pulled into a gravel lot with several other cars. 

He looked around curiously. “Where is here?” he asked. “Patience, all will be revealed soon enough,” Louis said cryptically. “You just like having something to hold over my head, you prat,” Harry said affectionately. 

“Damn straight,” Louis responded. “Now c’mon!” he said, hopping out of the car and setting off towards an adjacent cornfield.

Harry followed him, looking around in bewilderment. Louis had drug him all the way out to the middle of nowhere to look at a big field?

Then he rounded the corner and spotted a wooden farmhouse-style building with a large painted sign that said, “Welcome to the York Maze!” in bold, red script. Lou turned back toward him, his eyes sparkling.

“It’s the biggest cornmaze in England!” he said like an over-excited child. “And there’s a hayride, too!” he added. “And it goes to this big pumpkin patch and—.” He seemed to catch himself getting a bit too excited, so he scrubbed a hand through his hair and cleared his throat. “Thought it looked kind of fun,” he said nonchalantly.

 

Louis looked up at Harry, his face questioning and a bit nervous. And Harry was momentarily at a loss for words. A cornmaze. Louis’ big surprise was a fucking cornmaze, which was both absolutely absurd and amazing. 

Harry felt both sides of his mouth lifting in a huge grin. Finally, he exclaimed, “This is brilliant!” which made Louis beam. “I thought that this was an American thing though?” Harry said questioningly. 

“Yeah, it is but Yorkshire’s weird, innit?” Lou replied with a fond smile as he handed their tickets to a lady standing at a little booth outside the building. 

“It’s just a regular maze during the summer, but they do all kinds of special events during the fall. Like, there’s this huge haunted house for Halloween. I remember Zayn and I came up for it in Year 7 or so. We felt proper grown up because our mums let us take the train by ourselves.” 

He rolled his eyes. “It was sick, though. Zayn got so scared he nearly shit his pants. Had to sleep with the light on when we got home that night.” 

As Lou spoke, he got this kind of dreamy, faraway look on his face and Harry noticed that his Northern accent grew a bit stronger. It was ridiculously endearing, and Harry felt a strong tug of affection right around his navel. If he didn’t watch it, Louis Tomlinson might very well be the death of him.

 

“Race you to the maze?” Louis asked suddenly, his eyes gleaming. Without waiting for a reply, he set off toward the cornfield. And that’s how Harry Styles found himself sprinting headlong into a cornfield, weaving his way around confused children and irritated parents while laughing hysterically. Which was a remarkably un-Harry-ish way of acting. 

“Normally I would suggest splitting up to see who can get to the center of the maze first,” Louis panted as they slowed to a stop in front of the entrance. “God, you’re so competitive,” Harry rolled his eyes.

“But,“—Louis cut across him—“something tells me you’d be helplessly lost without me. So I guess we can stick together.” Harry chortled. “Please. You couldn’t find your way out of a shoe box! You’re the one who’d be lost, Tomlinson!”

Naturally, within 20 seconds of stepping inside the maze, they were both hopelessly lost. You might think that two people who were doing advanced, doctorate-level research could manage to find their way through a children’s corn-maze. You would be wrong.

It didn’t help that Harry kept tugging Lou by his belt loops into secluded corners of the maze and eagerly joining their lips. “This is highly inappropriate,” Louis murmured after the third time this occurred. “There are children here, Harold.” 

But he slipped his hand into Harry’s back pocket and pulled him forward again nonetheless. After over an hour wandering around and also making out behind cornstalks, they entered a clearing and Harry declared, “We’ve definitely been through here, Lou. We’re walking in circles,” at the same time that Louis protested, “I’ve never seen this clearing before in my life!” 

He groaned and sunk down to his knees dramatically. “We’re never getting out of here! We belong to the maze now. We’ll just have to learn to survive on corn and make sleeping mats out of the husks.” 

Harry shushed him. “Shut up, I think I hear something from outside the maze! Civilization!” Both their eyes lit up as they listened hard.

There were in fact the distant sounds of shouts and laughter from somewhere to their left. “Aw, sick!” Louis whooped and took off in the direction of the noises. “C’mon!” he motioned over his shoulder as he disappeared around the corner. 

Harry stared after him. “I literally cannot believe how much I like you sometimes,” he said to the spot where Lou had just been.

 

He stumbled out of the maze a minute later to find Lou standing in the queue for snacks. “Thanks for waiting. No man left behind and all that,” Harry said drily as he joined Louis in the line. 

“Well, you’re very slow,” Louis said. “And I figured you’d be hungry from all that wandering, so I thought I’d get us some refreshments.” Harry looked toward the snack counter. “What kind of refreshments are we talking?” he asked seriously. “Only the best fall food money can buy!” Louis said enthusiastically. “Doughnuts and pumpkin muffins and hot cider all that shit!” 

They had reached the front of the line and Lou smiled winningly at the lady behind the counter. “What can I get for you, love?” she asked sweetly. 

“Well, my friend and I worked up quite an appetite getting through that maze!” he said, bumping Harry’s hip with his own and making the woman chuckle.

“So maybe three doughnuts, two of those pumpkin spice muffins, and two cups of apple cider? What do you say, Haz? Sound good?” he inquired, turning to face Harry and gently taking hold of Harry’s wrist, rubbing his thumb against the delicate skin right above his palm. 

Harry nodded dumbly, because he didn’t give a fuck what they ate as long as Lou kept looking at him like that, all sunny and fond. 

Louis paid for their snacks and ushered Harry toward the departure point for the hayride when his face suddenly lit up. “Oh, right! Almost forgot!” he said brightly. “I brought a little something to make the fall festivities a little extra festive,” he winked, pulling a miniature flask from his back pocket and pouring amber liquid into his cider. 

“You are ridiculous,” Harry said seriously. Louis’ eyes widened in mock outrage. “How very dare you! If you don’t watch your tone I won’t share with you!” he exclaimed before taking a hasty look around and then swigging from the flask.

“Oh, go on, then,” Harry relented, holding out his styrofoam cup so that Louis could empty the contents of the flask.

* * *

 “So it turns out that whiskey is an excellent addition to cider,” Harry admitted several minutes later as they climbed into the back of a large truck for the hayride portion of the day’s adventure. 

“And you doubted me!” Louis crowed. “Who’s ridiculous now, Styles?” Harry snorted and took a seat on top of a hay bale. Louis looked at him over the rim of his cup with a raised eyebrow. 

“What?” Harry asked. “No one should look that fucking prim and proper sitting on a bed of straw.” Harry did a mock curtsy and stuck his pinky out to take his next sip of cider. 

“One must always carry oneself with the utmost dignity and refinement, young man,” he drawled in a stuffy voice. Louis—who had opted to sit on the floor of truck leaning against the bed—burst out laughing and tipped his head back so it was resting on Harry’s knee. 

“You never have told me how the hell you ended up here,” Louis remarked as the truck pulled out of the lot and down a dirt road. “Well, Louis, you invited me,” Harry said slowly, as if explaining something very simple to a small child. 

Louis laughed and shoved him lightly. “Not in this truck, you tit. Like, at this school. Posh London boy in Yorkshire? How’d that happen?” he asked, lounging back against a bale of hay tipping his head to the side, blue eyes fixed on Harry inquiringly. 

“Well, I originally wanted to study history at Cambridge. It was kind of my dream, actually. But I didn’t get into the program I applied to, and I didn’t get into Oxford’s PhD program either, so this was the next best thing.” 

He rattled all of this off in a practiced, offhand tone. Because he had been forced to explain the whole situation to far too many people already—to family and friends and colleagues—and it had made it easier to come up with a casual script. Much less awkward than saying, “I’m a loser who got his dreams crushed and now I’m at my safety school.”

Most people he shared this with had hastily masked the sympathy that flashed across their faces and rushed to say something like: “Oh, good for you! York’s a great school!” 

But Louis was not most people. His mouth popped open in surprise. “How could they not have let you in? You’re the smartest person I know,” he said seriously. Harry laughed softly. “Thanks, Lou. But at the time I acted pretty fucking stupid.”

He paused for a moment and thought back to last spring, thought back to getting two rejection letters and his whole world crashing down at his feet. “I know this sounds shitty, but like—it was the first time I’d really gotten rejected from something I tried for and it—well, I didn’t take it well.” 

Louis scrunched his eyebrows. “What do you mean?” he asked. “It’s just like—school had always been the thing I was best at. And I was used to being—I dunno, special, I guess. So when it happened I just kind of—lost it.” 

Louis didn’t say anything, so Harry continued. “I rejected York’s offer. Was gonna give up on the history thing altogether. My dad wanted me to come work for him at the bank; he’d lined up a job for me and bought me this Armani suit as like a welcome gift.” 

He rolled his eyes before continuing. “But my mum and Gemma talked some sense into me, thank God. Told me I was embarrassing them with the way I was acting. That I was being ridiculous, which I was.” He took a deep breath. 

“So I went back to York and basically begged them to take me back, which was its own form of humiliation.” Harry trailed off, running a hand through his hair and staring off the side of the truck at the passing landscape. 

“Sounds like you were miserable,” Louis said gently, running a hand down Harry’s leg and resting it on his knee. Harry exhaled. “Yeah, it was pretty touch and go for a while. For the first month or so, I honestly didn’t want to be here,” he said pensively. “What changed?” Louis asked. 

 

Harry considered the question for several moments. A lot had changed in the past couple of months: he’d gotten into a routine that worked for him; he’d actually come to really enjoy his classes; his research job was great and fulfilling; he had great friends in Niall and Nick now that he’d moved to town. 

And then there was Lou. He thought back to the day that Lou had literally come crashing into him, brash and infuriating and energetic and so fucking cute that Harry would have asked for his number right then and there if he hadn’t been covered in hot coffee. 

Before he had time to answer Lou’s question, the truck came to a jolting stop and the driver poked his head out the window. “We’re here, you lot!” he called jovially. “Truck’s heading back in 30 minutes!”

They both rose from their hay bales and brushed the dust off their pants. “So, are you in the market for a pumpkin today?” Harry asked Louis as they hopped out of the truck along with the other passengers. 

“I want one of the warty ones,” Louis replied with a grin. “Blegh, why?” Harry said in disgust. “They’re like, the underdogs of the pumpkin world,” Louis explained as if it should have been obvious. “And I think they’re charming.” 

Harry nodded. “Right then. We’re going to find the wartiest pumpkin in this whole bloody patch,” which earned him a beaming smile from Louis.

* * *

 As they pulled out of the parking lot a little over an hour later with Lou’s warty pumpkin stowed safely in the backseat, Harry noticed that Louis was a bit jerky. His knee was bouncing up and down and his fingers tapped out a fast beat on his armrest and he kept stealing furtive glances over at Harry.

“Why don’t you put on some music?” Harry asked him. Lou  nodded and scrolled through his phone for a moment before smirking deviously and tapping his selection. The next moment, the car shook to the rhythm of a dark, sensual guitar riff. 

Harry immediately recognized the opening lines of Louis' selection and sucked in a quick breath. This song was at the top of his sex playlist and Louis knew that damn well.

Harry looked over and saw that Louis was giving him The Look. The Look where he tilted his head just so and narrowed his eyes in a way that somehow made all the planes of his face extra defined and particularly breathtaking. The Look that always sent a jolt of arousal through Harry’s entire body, making his face flush and his hands tingle. The Look that was basically one of Harry’s favorite things in the entire world.

Lou slid one of his hands up Harry’s leg teasingly. “Do you like this song?” he asked, making his voice a breathy rasp. “I think we both know the answer to that question,” Harry replied, fighting to keep his voice level. 

Louis snickered. “Right, you like this one quite a lot,” he said. “I’d forgotten. Silly me,” he purred, walking his fingers further up Harry’s thigh, dangerously close to his groin. “Lou, trying to drive a car here, remember?” Harry gritted as Lou’s palm ghosted over the quickly-growing bulge in the front of Harry’s jeans. 

“Have you ever gotten off in a car before?” Louis asked casually, leaning forward to just barely brush his lips against Harry’s neck as he spoke. “N-no,” Harry stuttered. “Didn’t have a car growing up, being from London and all.” 

Louis clicked his tongue. “Rite of passage, that is,” he tutted. “You really missed out there, Hazza.” There was a beat of silence accompanied by a palpable sexual tension that filled the entire car and made Harry feel a bit light-headed. 

 

Then Harry came to a decision. He checked the rearview and pulled into a miraculously well-placed scenic overlook with a small, blessedly deserted car park. Louis gaped at him, seemingly in disbelief that his little stunt had actually worked. 

“Well, are you just going to sit there and stare at me all night, or are you going to show me what all the fuss is about?” Harry asked once he’d stopped the car. His tone was light, but there was a hard, authoritative edge to it that made Louis shiver.

“Answer me,” Harry ordered when Louis didn’t respond. “M’gonna get you off,” Louis murmured at once, scrambling to unbuckle his seatbelt. “How are you gonna get me off?” Harry asked. 

Louis’ tongue darted over his bottom lip and his eyes frantically searched Harry’s face. “However you want. Tell me what to do.” 

Desire churned in Harry’s stomach and he felt a vein in his jaw twitch at those words, but he made his voice come out even, calm, bored. “Jesus, Louis. I always have to do everything. It’s fucking exhausting.” 

Louis leaned forward to catch his mouth in a kiss but Harry turned away, making Louis whine impatiently. “Think I want those pretty hands on me,” Harry drawled. 

Louis didn’t have to be told twice. He immediately reached across the seat towards Harry’s lap and fumbled with his button and zipper. 

Harry let out an involuntary shudder when his cock sprang free from his jeans and pants. Louis turned toward him and crouched on the seat to get a better angle. 

He ran his thumb over the head of Harry’s cock and looked up at him through long lashes. Then he wrapped his palm around the base and gave a few long, slow strokes, gradually increasing the pace. 

Both of their eyes were glued to Harry’s lap where Louis’ hand worked frantically over his cock. “So good for me, Lou,” Harry moaned, tipping his head back against the headrest. Louis quickly found a rhythm and coaxed a series of positively pornographic noises from Harry.

He thrust into Louis’ palm and grunted, “Fuck yes, just like that, Lou.” At this, Louis looked up from Harry’s crotch, his blue eyes boring into Harry’s green ones. “Can I touch myself? Please?” Louis whimpered breathlessly. 

Harry considered him for a moment, vaguely wondering what fucking planet he’d come from. “Yeah, babe,” he murmured, pulling him forward for a messy kiss. Louis moaned in relief and used his left hand to clumsily pop the button of his pants. 

Louis pulled his bottom lip between his teeth and bit down hard when he finally found the friction he’d been craving. “Ngh, Harry,” he panted, rutting his hips forward as he rapidly stroked Harry with his other hand.

Harry leaned over the console to suck a mark on the side of Louis’ neck, hard enough to hurt. Louis whined and tightened the grip of his palm, making Harry groan into the soft skin of Louis’ collarbone. Harry reached under Louis’ jumper to feel the warm, soft skin of his chest. Louis shivered as Harry’s hand brushed his nipple.

Harry smirked and slipped his other hand over the one that Louis had on his own cock. He tightened the grip and sped up until Louis was coming with a loud moan. Then Louis leaned down to suck a mark on the small bit of the exposed skin of Harry’s thigh while still working his hand over his cock and that was that.

 

A minute later, Harry laid his head down on the steering wheel and swore. “Fuck, Lou. Sometimes I wonder whether or not you’re actually fucking real.” He felt Louis’ hand slip into his hair and muss it gently. 

“M’pretty great, aren’t I?” he said, still breathing heavily. “There should be tissues in the glove compartment if you wanna clean up a bit,” Harry said. “Cheers,” Louis replied gratefully and rummaged around until he found the travel size tissues. He took a few and tossed the package to Harry. 

As Harry pulled out of the car park five minutes later, Louis laughed weakly. “We really are fucking 16 year-olds, aren’t we? Giving each other hand jobs in the front seat of your car,” he snorted. 

“Speak for yourself,” Harry said. “You were the one giving out the hand jobs.” Louis pursed his lips. “You weren’t complaining a few minutes ago,” he shot back, his eyes gleaming playfully. 

“Yeah, you give a mean hojo, I have to say,” Harry admitted, causing Louis to dissolve in a fit of giggles. “Hojo? Where the fuck did you get that?” he choked. Harry shrugged. “That’s what Niall calls them,” he said.

* * *

 “Fancy a drink somewhere? Strangely enough, I’m still not sick of you,” Louis said as Harry backed the car into a spot outside his building twenty minutes later. Harry snorted. “Wow, high praise,” he remarked drily. Louis laughed and ruffled Harry’s curls. 

“You should be flattered! I really can’t stand most people,” he said. Harry considered him for a moment. He’d tilted his head up haughtily, drawing attention to his high cheekbones and adorably upturned nose, blue eyes sparkling impishly and lips twisted into a satisfied smirk. 

“Is that so?” Harry said, his voice a little lower than usual. Louis nodded. “And what is it that you like about me?” Harry asked. 

He knew that it was risky, could feel his breath catching in his throat as the words left his mouth, but he couldn’t help it because it was a question he’d been asking himself for a long time now.

“Well, obviously I think your dick is pretty phenomenal,” Louis started with a smirk. “And your lips—how they’re so full and like—berry colored,” he said, lips quirking into a slightly sheepish grin.

He paused and stared at Harry for a long moment, his expression becoming more serious. “I like your eyes. And how you look at me, like really look at me.” Louis was speaking quickly now, words tumbling out of his mouth like he almost couldn’t control them.

“I like how kind you are to everyone. And how you work so hard at everything you do, even though you make it look easy.” Harry’s heart was pounding so hard that it threatened to drown out Louis’ last words. “I just—I like you. A lot,” Louis finished, his voice soft.

Before Harry could stop himself, he reached out and cupped Louis’ face with one hand, tracing his jawline with the pad of his thumb. Louis closed his eyes and shuddered almost imperceptibly. 

After a moment though, his eyes flew open and he withdrew from Harry’s touch to unfasten his seat belt. “So, how about that drink?” he asked with a shaky laugh. Harry nodded slowly and tried to make sense of the conflicting sensations of elation and disappointment that were both pressing down on his chest. “Yeah, okay,” he said, turning to take the key from the ignition and unbuckle his own belt.

 

The pub Louis had chosen was on a secluded side street and it had a distinctly dive-y atmosphere with its low ceilings, dim lighting, and old football memorabilia pasted on every square inch of wall space. 

“This is—cozy,” Harry said, looking around. “Shut up,” Louis laughed. “The drinks are dead cheap and it’s usually nice and quiet. This is where me and Liam and Olly and Ed come when we fancy a pint after footy.” Harry nodded and allowed himself to be led to a small booth in the front corner. 

“You sit and I’ll go get the first round. I’m kind of feeling a Guinness, what about you?” Harry nodded and said, “Guinness sounds good,” then he watched Lou set off across the bar.

He pulled out his phone to kill some time and saw that he’d missed a text from Niall. “How goes the big date?” he’d asked. Harry rolled his eyes, but grinned to himself nonetheless. Because yeah, unless he was completely crazy, this had totally been a fucking date. 

They had bantered and talked about themselves and flirted all day long. They’d made out in a fucking pumpkin patch, for God’s sake. He typed back, “Okay it’s possible that you might have been right” and laughed when Niall responded, “Fuck yeah I was you twat. Now go have fun.”

 

Around this time, Harry realized that Lou had been a while getting their drinks. He squinted up at the bar and spotted him talking to another guy. The man was a lot bigger than Louis, several inches taller and a good bit broader. He was leaning to speak in Louis’ ear, and he’d pivoted his body so that he was bracketing Louis between the bar and himself. 

Harry could see from here that Lou looked distinctly uncomfortable. His eyes were darting around the room and he was leaning as far back into the bar and away from the man as he could get. An unpleasant burst of heat flooded Harry’s stomach as he frowned across the room at the two of them.

He saw the man place a large hand on Lou’s shoulder, saw Lou flinching away from his touch, and then Harry’s instincts took over and before he knew it, he was sliding out of the booth and towards Louis.

As he approached, Harry heard the man saying, “What’s someone who looks like you doing here all by yourself?” Louis laughed weakly. “I’m actually here with a friend. I should probably get back as a matter of—.” 

The man cut him off by placing a hand on Lou’s hip, his grip tight. Louis gasped in pain and shock and tried to squirm away as the man said, “Why don’t you ditch your friend and we can get to know each other better, eh?” 

Harry stepped between them, slightly in front of Louis, forcing the man to withdraw his hand. “Y’need to back off, mate,” Harry frowned, his eyes flashing. Louis shot him a grateful look that made Harry’s insides burn with a more pleasant kind of warmth. 

The man looked between Harry and Louis, looked down at the hand Harry had slipped around Louis’ waist. He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, okay. Have fun fucking your little twink,” he muttered in Harry’s direction before turning to walk away. 

“What the fuck did you just say?” Harry growled, stepping closer and squaring up to the other bloke, blocking his path. “You heard me,” he retorted. Harry stared at him for a moment, green eyes darker than usual and sparkling dangerously. 

Rage was making his mind foggy, eliminating all rational thought, because who in the fuck did this prick think he was? Touching Louis like that? Talking about him like that? Then he pushed the man hard, hard enough for him to stumble and curse “What the fuck?”, hard enough for the half the bar to turn toward them and fall into a tense silence. 

Harry stood over the guy. “Watch your fucking mouth,” he advised, still staring at him, daring him to retaliate. After a moment, the other man shook his head and turned away. “Whatever, man,” he murmured.

 

“Let’s go. Now,” Harry said flatly. “I already paid for these drinks though—“ Louis started to protest but Harry cut him off. “Just leave them. It doesn’t matter.” After they had stepped outside and the cool breeze assaulted his flushed face, Harry’s mind cleared a little and the ringing in his ears faded. 

It was possible that he’d over-reacted just a bit. But something about seeing that asshole up in Lou’s space like that had driven him completely mental. Still, his weird over-protectiveness had probably completely freaked Louis out. 

He turned to Louis. “I’m sorry if that was like, over-the-top. I just—,“ Harry started, but before he could finish his sentence, Louis had positively launched himself at him, surging forward and pressing him against the wall. 

Lou took hold of the back of Harry’s neck and pressed forward so that their lips met. He licked eagerly into Harry’s mouth and groaned softly when their tongues met. He pulled away and buried his face against Harry’s neck, resting his nose at the soft skin behind his ear.

“Take me home right now,” he murmured, whispering the words against the column of Harry’s throat before tugging him off the wall and down the street toward Harry's flat. 


	12. 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi! this chapter is a bit shorter and also so full of smut omg. there's less going on bc the next chapter is going to be super dramatic, so just setting the scene a bit...

Right. So the corn-maze had been a date. It had been such an excellent fucking date that Louis couldn’t even find it in himself to be freaked out that it was a date when he woke up in Harry’s bed the next morning curled into Harry’s side.

Harry had starfished on the bed, lying on his back with his limbs sprawled out, taking up much more than his fair share. His skin was warm and he  smelled like burnt leaves and sweat and soap. He looked so peaceful and fucking gorgeous, pink lips slightly parted and long eyelashes fanning over the delicate skin under his eyes.

Louis ran his nose up Harry’s arm, stopping to ghost his lips over the ship tattooed on his bicep. He scooted closer and traced the side of his foot over the sinewy muscles of Harry’s calf.

Touching Harry like this was different from touching him when they were hooking up. Usually when Louis touched Harry, it was a means to an end; desperate and usually a little frantic, meant to get both of them off. 

But now Louis was touching Harry just to enjoy the softness of the skin on his back and the downy hair dusting his lower abdomen and the warmth that his whole body seemed to radiate. And it was cautious and curious and somehow a lot more intimate. And also strangely addictive. 

Louis though back to the night before, to the pub where Harry had jumped down that other bloke’s throat and then Louis had jumped Harry and they’d returned to the flat where he’d made Harry come three different times. 

Normally, Louis would have had no problem telling a pushy guy to fuck right off, had done it many times before. But last night he’d been caught off guard when the guy approached him and it had been kind of flattering until it wasn’t, which was right around the times that Louis had realized that the bloke was a whole lot bigger than him and had him pinned against the bar.

Louis could still see the steely look in Harry’s eyes and the tense set of his shoulders and his knuckles white from clenching his fists so hard. He could feel the flood of relief when he’d heard Harry’s voice and felt a reassuring hand slip onto the small of his back. And fuck if it hadn’t been the biggest turn on ever. 

Harry had made Louis feel safe and protected and he probably should have been freaked out by it, but he just wasn’t. On the contrary, Louis felt like he needed to do something in return, even if it was something stupid and small.

 

So without even really realizing he had decided to do so, Louis gingerly rose from the bed, careful not to wake Harry, then padded into the kitchen on bare feet and started shuffling around in the cabinets looking for ingredients. 

He was going to make Harry breakfast. And then he was going to bring it to him in bed and maybe wake him up with a nice blowie. That seemed a proper thank you to him.

After surveying his options, Louis set to work. For someone who liked to complain that he lived off takeaway, Harry had a pretty impressive pantry selection. Louis got out flour, sugar, milk, and eggs and began combining ingredients for pancake batter. 

Louis was a good cook. But he wasn’t what you’d call fastidious. Which was basically a nice way of saying that he was a bit of a fucking mess in the kitchen. So naturally, by the time that he was spooning batter onto a sizzling frying pan 15 minutes later, the room was in disarray. 

Splatters of batter had splashed onto the counter and there was flour on his cheek and all of the cabinet doors were hanging open from his fruitless quest to find chocolate chips.

 

“Lou?” came a sleepy voice from the doorway just as he was taking the first round of pancakes off the stove. Louis froze and looked up to see Harry looking sleep-rumpled and fucking devastating, his long hair extra curly and his briefs pushed low over his hips and his lips pouted in confusion. 

Louis was suddenly, painfully aware of the state of the kitchen, which was approaching a disaster zone; he realized that he was in someone else’s home and that pancakes might have been a tad ambitious. 

“I—sorry about the mess! I promise I’ll clean everything up but—well, I made breakfast!” he chirped, holding up the plate. “I hope you like pancakes!” he said cheerfully. Harrydidn’t say anything, just stood there stood there gaping at him, so he continued. I was going to do chocolate chips but I couldn’t find any so they’re just regular, hope that’s—.” 

Harry cut him off mid-sentence, taking three large steps forward and bridging the space between them. Louis leaned forward on instinct, expecting Harry to meet him halfway. Instead, Harry put one hand on his shoulder and the other on his hip and roughly spun him around so that his lower abdomen was pressed against the cool, smooth marble of the countertop.

Louis tipped his head back to look at him, but Harry tangled a hand in his hair and pulled so that he was facing the cabinets again. “Stay still,” he rasped in Louis’ ear. 

Louis’ response was a pathetic moan, as Harry had chosen that moment to reach around and palm him through his pants and God, how was he already half-hard?

Louis tipped his head straight back on Harry’s shoulder when Harry tightened his grip around his cock at the exact moment that he ground forward filthily against Louis’ ass. 

Harry yanked his hair again, harder this time. “Said stay still.” he instructed in that hard-edged tone that drove Louis absolutely mental. “Didn’t you hear me the first time?” he asked silkily as he slipped one hand inside Louis’ pants, making Louis gasp and bite down on his knuckle. 

“Answer me,” Harry said, palming him even harder than before. Fighting not to rut his hips, Louis grit his teeth and said, “Y-yes. Sorry, just felt—fuck. So good.” He felt Harry smiling against his neck. “Feels good, does it?” he smirked and Louis nodded frantically.

 

Without any more warning, Harry dropped to his knees and pushed Louis’ briefs to the floor. He spread his cheeks apart and licked a long, slow stripe over his hole. 

It was a miracle that Louis’ knees didn’t give out. “Oh, my god,” he groaned. Harry tightened his grip, groping Louis’ ass hard enough to bruise as he licked in deeper. Louis could feel the spit running down Harry’s chinagainst his own sensitive skin, and he couldn’t help but grind back against the wonderfully slick sensation. 

As soon as he did, Harry detached himself with an obscene sucking noise. “What did I tell you, Louis?” Harry asked in a steely voice and Louis shivered in spite of himself as Harry’s hand stroked over one of his cheeks. “I told you to stay still,” he drawled authoritatively.

“S-sorry, didn’t mean—” Louis started, but he stopped speaking when he felt Harry’s large hand smack across his ass _hard._ Louis gasped at the sudden sting, and his head fell forward against the cabinet. “Fuck, Harry,” he moaned as Harry rubbed over the spot soothingly.

Harry laughed throatily. “You like that, do you, Lou?” he asked quietly. Louis nodded, savoring the way his skin heated up on the spot where Harry had hit him. “Again,” he murmured.

“Jesus, Louis. Fucking gagging for it aren’t you?” he asked, before lifting his hand and smacking the same spot. “Maybe that’ll teach you to do what I say, hm?” Harry said before lowering his mouth again. 

After a few minutes, Harry reached around and began to palm his cock, finding a rhythm between his hand and his tongue. The combined sensations were almost too much. It was a sensory overload, blurring the line between pleasure and pain. 

“Ngh, fuck Harry. M’bout to—,” Louis gasped, but before he could finish, Harry pulled away. 

He straightened up and ran his hands reverently over the muscles of Louis’ back and shoulders. “Not yet,” he murmured, kissing the spot between Louis’ shoulder-blades.  “Fuck, you're hot," he said in a ragged whisper. "Gonna make you feel so good." 

Louis laughed a little wildly. "D-didn’t think you’d get so worked up over pancakes,” he said breathlessly, his voice hitching at the end of his sentence when Harry rutted against him and he felt the outline of his cock against the cleft of his spit-slicked asscheeks. “Get on the bed. Now,” Harry mumbled against the skin on the back of his neck, making goosebumps rise there.

* * *

 And that’s how they ended up in bed until half past one in the afternoon. Louis only emerged from Harry’s flat when he remembered that it was Sunday and he only had a few short hours before he had to confront the next week and the various obligations that came with it.

“Does this count as a walk of shame?” Louis asked as he tugged yesterday’s jumper over his head and picked up his pumpkin from Harry’s dresser. “Mm, definitely,” Harry grinned, peering at Louis over the rim of his reading glasses. 

He had started reading a book from his bedside table while Louis dressed and he was quite the sight: tattooed, bare chest exposed over the tangle of bedsheets covering his long legs; hair curly and mussed; specs perched on the edge of his nose. 

Louis bit his lip. “You’re fucking sinful, you know that?” he told Harry, who smiled even more widely and struck a dramatic pose, sprawling out on the bed. “Paint me like one of your French girls,” he exclaimed and Louis burst out laughing and rolled his eyes. 

“Aaaand, we’re back,” he drawled happily. Harry chuckled and bent to pick up his book, which had fallen off the bed in the midst of his flailing. “Very smooth,” Louis said drily. “Anyways, thanks for coming with and…stuff,” he trailed off lamely. Harry beamed. “Anytime. I—this was fun,” he replied. “See you in class on Tuesday, Lou.” 

 

As Louis let himself out of the flat and started down the stairs, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and checked it for the first time in what felt like about a year. He had a text from Zayn, two from Perrie, two from the football captains group chat, and a call from his mum. And six missed calls from Liam. 

He cursed and hit the return call button. “You all right, mate?” he asked as soon as Liam picked up. “Huh? Yeah, course I am. Why?” Liam replied. “Um, because you’ve been calling me non-stop.”

“Oh, shit! I forgot about that. Me and Ed and Olly were smoking last night and when I was high as fuck I apparently decided that I had some urgent business to discuss with you. Sorry ‘bout that, mate.”

Louis laughed. “No worries. Didn’t even see it until just now,” he said. “Which reminds me—where the hell have you been for the last, like, 32 hours?” Liam asked. Louis scoffed. “Come off it! It hasn’t been 32 hours!” 

“Dude, you’ve been gone since yesterday morning,” Liam reminded him. “Have you been with Harry this entire time?” When Louis didn’t respond, Liam whooped gleefully. “Ha! You have, haven’t you? God Lou, what have you been doing all this time?” 

Louis smirked. “What do you think?” he asked, which made Liam laugh uproariously. “Well, are you heading home now?” he asked. “I was gonna head to the library pretty soon if you want to join. I haven’t got shit done this weekend.” Louis agreed and set off in the direction of his flat, whistling as he walked.

 

Louis wasn’t stupid. He realized that after the corn-maze, things were a little different between Harry and him. Before, they only saw each other for class or work or sex. But now, they had started spending time together that didn’t include any of those things. 

Time where they would just talk or hang out or not do much of anything.And the truth was, Louis knew what he was doing. He knew what _they_ were doing every time that they grabbed dinner after a research session or went to an independent film that Harry had heard about from one of his profs or went to Louis’ favorite coffee shop to study. 

Louis knew that the spot in his life that he’d carved out for Harry was expanding and becoming increasingly important to him. He found that he needed that time when he could forget about all of the bullshit and just enjoy the sound of Harry’s voice and laugh at his stupid jokes and listen to him talk about his day. 

He found himself getting irritable when he hadn’t talked to Harry all day. He caught himself sharing bits of his life that he didn’t share with anyone but his best mates, telling Harry about his sisters and his mum and his friends back home and his anxieties about finishing school and entering the real world. 

Of course, all of these things were against every single one of Louis’ rules. And Louis hated himself for not being strong enough to do what he knew was the best thing, to get out before could get properly hurt. 

In the few moments that Louis was truly alone with his thoughts, usually when he was lying bed trying to get to sleep, he couldn’t help but consider the how bad the fallout would be when Harry inevitably got tired of fooling around. 

 

Because, again, Louis wasn’t stupid. He knew that people like Harry, people who were charming and impossibly fit and rich didn’t end up with people like him. People like Harry ended up with people like Nick, people who grew up the way he did, who went to Eton and had interesting, famous friends and did all kinds of interesting, important things with their lives. 

Louis was just a blip on Harry’s radar, a memory to collect, “that younger guy in York that he’d fooled around with for a few months.” He wasn’t delusional, and he knew that his fling or whatever it was with Harry had an expiration date. Harry was out of his league and it was only a matter of time before he realized it.

“But Harry isn’t the type of person who would use someone like that,” a nagging voice in Louis’ head reminded him. Louis shoved the thought away bitterly. 

When Harry had first moved to York, he hadn’t had anyone and he’d been lonely so he’d latched onto the first person who had come along. It was natural, totally understandable. But sooner or later, Harry was going to get bored of him and move on to someone better. 

Louis had known it all along. And it would have been easier for him to have never gotten involved in the first place, because getting involved meant getting attached. But that had never been an option, not really. Because when it came to Harry, Louis just couldn’t seem to control himself. 

Whenever they were together, the walls that Louis had tried to put up just toppled and what’s even worse is that he didn’t even care. Being with Harry was like this high, like being in a bubble that was just the two of them and there was nothing else that mattered.

But then he’d leave and Louis would realize how stupid he was being. He would lay in bed at night and wonder “what in the fuck am I doing?” and he’d wonder how badly he was going to end up hurting himself.

As weak as it made him, Louis felt like the only thing he could do was to enjoy this thing with Harry while it lasted. For as long as Harry would let him. And if that made him pathetic, so be it.

* * *

 Perhaps the only bad part about spending more time with Harry was that it meant sacrificing some of the time he usually spent hanging out with Liam and Zayn. Even though they lived together, the three boys had different schedules for class and work and everything else, so Louis could go a few days without really seeing his mates. 

When he realized that it had been three full days since he’d talked to Zayn beyond a quick hello as they rushed past each other on their way out the flat, Louis resolved himself to make more time for his friends.

That’s how he found himself at Costa on a wintry Wednesday night at the beginning of December. York had just gotten its first snow of the season, and the coffee shop was packed with people looking to warm up with a hot drink. 

The shop didn’t quiet down until after 9 o’clock, by which point Zayn looked ready to shove a peppermint mocha up someone’s ass. 

“So what’s going on with Liam?” Louis asked Zayn, peering over his mug of tea at the other boy, who was behind the counter fiddling with the espresso machine. Zayn froze. “What do you mean? Nothing’s changed.” 

Louis rolled his eyes. “Yeah, except that you two shamelessly flirt whenever you’re drunk or think no one’s watching.” A dopy grin spread across Zayn’s face at that and then, he seemed to realize that he was smiling and it was replaced with a scowl. 

“Honestly, mate, I’m just kind of waiting to get over myself. Figure it’s gotta happen eventually, right? But sometimes I can’t help it. When we’re drinking and stuff,” he mumbled, carding a hand through his black hair moodily. 

Louis raised an eyebrow and contemplated, not for the first time, how someone as brilliant as Zayn could be so fucking dim. “Last time I checked, you’re not exactly forcing yourself on him, man. He seems pretty cool with it too. Why not go for it next time?” 

Zayn’s eyes narrowed. “I told you. I don’t want to take advantage or make things weird.” At that, Louis actually laughed. “Dude, he’s a fucking adult! He can make his own decisions!” he exclaimed, because _honestly,_ this was absurd. 

He could practically see the cogs turning in Zayn’s brain as he processed that. First he frowned, looking down at the floor. Then his eyes widened and a hesitant smile stretched across his face. 

“That’s true,” he said slowly. Louis nodded encouragingly, because he sensed that maybe, just maybe they could finally be making some progress here. 

“And it does seem like he’s attracted to me,” Zayn reasoned. “I guess it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to kind of see what happens the next time we got out or whatever.”

Oh, this was good. This was so good. Because when Zayn made the conscious decision to put the moves on, he was good. Like, really, ridiculously good. Louis made a mental note to tell Harry about the latest development in the saga of the star-crossed lovers (Harry’s words, not his) as he responded, “I think that’s a great idea, Zee. Really.”’

 

“Hullo, lads!” They both looked up at the sound of a familiar voice, deep and booming with an Irish lilt. “Hullo, Niall,” they said in unison, grinning at the skinny blonde boy as he approached the counter.

“So you work here, Zayn?” Niall asked him, taking in the burgundy Costa apron knotted around his waist. “I guess I won’t hold it against you,” he said.

“I hate places like this. I hate coffee and I hate the whole ‘let’s play elevator music and have mood lighting and hang up shitty art so no one notices this place is depressing as fuck’ routine. And the food is always total shit. You can’t even get a real meal,” he said in disgust. “Costa, Starbucks, the lot. Fuck all of ‘em.” 

The other two stared at him in shocked silence for a moment. Then Louis burst out laughing. “Well, then. Tell us how you really feel.” Zayn chuckled too and rubbed the back of his neck with one hand.

“Not trying to stick up for this place because God knows I hate this shithole more than anyone—but if you hate coffee shops so much, what the fuck are you doing here? Meeting Pez?” Zayn asked. “Or Harry?” Louis added slightly breathlessly.

Zayn and Niall both rolled their eyes. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Niall asked drily. Then, he added, “Here with a study group,” in a contemptuous groan. “Fuckin’ tossers.”

Zayn snorted again. “Right. Well. Can I get you anything, mate?” Niall surveyed the pastry case skeptically. After a moments, he sighed resignedly. “Might as well get a blueberry muffin. And scone.” 

Zayn placed Niall’s selections on a plate and slid them across the counter. “Ah, fuck it. I’ll take a croissant too.” Louis roared with laughter as Zayn raised an eyebrow. Niall shot them both the middle finger. “M’hungry. Haven’t eaten since lunch.” 

Zayn and Louis both watched as Niall rejoined his study group, precariously balancing three plates and a cup of water on his tray. “That bloke’s a fucking riot,” Zayn commented. Louis smiled. “Yeah, he’s great. He and Pez are great together.” 

Zayn nodded. “It’s good that you get on so well with Harry’s best mate.” Louis flushed, made a noncommittal noise, and hunched back over the book he’d been reading. 

* * *

 The next evening, Louis joined Liam, Olly, and Ed for a long jog that looped around campus and ended at the football field. They made their way off the pitch at a leisurely pace, chatting and laughing and shooting the shit. “Fish and chips, lads?” Ed asked, rubbing his stomach. “I think we’ve earned it, what’ya say?” 

The others murmured their agreement. “Fish and chip Thursday! Sounds good to—“ Louis started, but he was cut off by Fitz and the Tantrums blaring from his phone, announcing that he was receiving a call. 

He smiled automatically when he saw Harry’s contact picture, which showed him laughing and balancing three large books on his head while Louis tried to pile on another. “Hullo, you,” he greeted him. “H—hi, Lou,” was Harry’s slightly breathless reply.

Louis frowned slightly. There was something off about Harry’s tone. “How’s it going? Everything okay?” he asked quietly. “Mmm, yeah. I’m—fuck—m’good,” Harry rasped and Louis stopped walking. He knew that voice.

“Harry,” he said. “Are you getting off right now?” he asked, keeping his voice low so that his friends couldn’t hear from where they were walking a few steps ahead of him.

Harry laughed breathlessly and paused for a moment. “What? No. I mean, I—uh. Yeah, I am. Guilty as charged,” he said hurriedly. “I—I missed you,” he whined breathlessly. “Started thinking about you and—mm, I got a little carried away. Wanted to hear your voice” he said almost bashfully, but Louis could hear the smile in his voice.

“Stop it,” Louis ordered him, his voice rough. “Now.” There was silence on the other end of the line. Louis continued. “Get dressed. I’ll be over in a bit. You’re not to touch yourself until I get there, understood?” 

Harry inhaled sharply. “F—fuck. Okay,” he stammered. “I’m serious, Harry. No touching,” Louis warned him and there was a dark, hard edge to his voice. “No touching,” Harry echoed and Louis rung off.

Louis took a moment to thank the powers that be for what was about to occur, then he took a deep breath and caught up to his friends in a few jogged paces. “Bad news, lads. Can’t join you after all. Something came up,” he said. Liam, Ed, and Olly whipped their heads toward Louis. Liam shot him a knowing, wry glance and murmured “Really, Lou?” L ouis grinned back at him slyly. 

“You were just saying how you missed fish and chip Thursday! What came up?” Ed asked suspiciously. Olly studied him closely, then his eyebrows shot up and he hooted with indignant laughter. “It’s that bloke, innit?” he accused. “The bloke you’re always sneaking off to go see these days! I know there’s a bloke!” 

Ed chimed in. “What bloke? There’s a bloke? Someone we know?” Louis rolled his eyes. “No one. Don’t worry about it. I’ll catch you lads later,” he said evasively, shooting them the middle finger as he walked away amidst their playful whistles and catcalls.

 

Louis may or may not have jogged all the way to Harry’s apartment. Whatever. Once he arrived, he knocked once and smirked at how astonishingly quickly Harry answered the door, almost like he’d been waiting right outside or something. 

Harry’s cheeks were flushed and his clothes were wrinkled and he gave Louis a dopy grin when he saw him. “Hi, Lou. M’glad to see you,” he mumbled, leaning in to try and join their lips. 

At the last moment, Louis turned his head away, then tilted it up to whisper in Harry’s ear. “Yeah?” he breathed. He felt Harry nod. “You excited for me to wreck you? Make you come so hard you forget your own name?” he purred. 

Harry nodded even harder, and latched his mouth onto Louis’ neck, trailing his tongue down to the collarbone, tasting the saltiness of Louis’ sweat-dried skin. Louis pulled away and turned abruptly, toward the bedroom. Harry almost tripped over his large feet to catch up to him.

Louis pushed Harry onto the bed with surprising force and the look of shocked, unconcealed arousal that Harry gave him in response literally made Louis’ dick twitch in his shorts. 

Louis straddled Harry and kissed him hard, rough, bruising, pushing him down onto the bed by the shoulders. Harry moaned and ground his hips up against Louis, wrapping his big hands tightly around Louis to keep him close. 

Louis grinned. “Nuh-uh-uh. You’re not in charge this time,” he reminded Harry, swinging his leg off of him to deprive Harry of the friction that he craved. Harry moaned again, this time in frustration. “Please, Lou. Need you,” he purred, using the low whisper that he knew drove Louis insane. 

He sat up and attempted to get his arms around Louis for another kiss. To Harry’s surprise, Louis turned away. He spoke, his voice hard. “Harry. You’re not in charge. I am. If you don’t stop, I’m going to have to make you.” 

 

At these words, Harry jaw dropped and he nodded wildly. “Make me,” he breathed. Louis scrutinized him, blue eyes dark and expression unreadable. 

After a few moments, he nodded once and said, “Take off all your clothes but your pants and lay on your back.” His voice had a new, steely edge to it. Harry gaped at Louis for a moment. 

“What are you waiting for?” Louis demanded. Harry leapt off the bed and began throwing off his clothes at an almost comical speed. Louis crossed the room to Harry’s closet and rustled around until he found what he was looking for. 

He turned around holding one of those ridiculous bandanas that Harry wore in his hair sometimes and a necktie that he’d never seen Harry wearing. “Wanna tie up your hands,” Louis murmured, walking back to the bed. “Is that okay?” 

Harry looked like he’d just won the lottery. “Fuck,” he moaned. “Yeah, fuck yeah.” Louis smiled at him and straddled him again, grabbing his hands and pushing them against the bedpost. 

He laced the tie around Harry’s wrists and secured them to the frame. “Too tight?” Louis asked, licking his way up Harry’s long neck. “Perfect,” Harry breathed. 

Louis kissed him lazily, languidly for a few minutes before grasping around for the bandana. He found it and looked Harry in the eyes. “Y’know what would be fucking hot?” he asked, grinding filthily against Harry. Harry’s breath hitched and he shook his head. 

“If I blindfolded you. Don’t want you to see anything. Just want you to focus on how good I’m gonna make you feel.” Harry nodded frantically and tipped his face up to try and catch Louis’ lips. 

Louis evaded him and secured the bandana snugly over Harry’s eyes. “That feel okay?” he asked gently. Harry nodded again, breathing heavily, a flush creeping up his chest and coloring his cheeks a rosy pink.

Louis settled himself between Harry’s legs and ghosted his mouth over the bulge in the front of Harry’s pants, noting that he was already very hard. Harry panted and murmured something that sounded like “Please.” Louis smirked, loving the power that he had over Harry.

Usually, Louis liked being on the receiving end of this kind of thing, liked it when Harry was in control. But Harry was so responsive, so fucking desperate for it; it was like a drug. 

He rubbed the side of Harry’s hip gently. “Up,” he ordered and Harry eagerly thrust his hips up so that Louis could shrug off his pants. Once Harry was naked, Louis let him lie there and suffer for a moment before he leaned his head down over Harry’s hipbone, right over one of his fig leaves and sucked a mark there, using his teeth, hard and punishing. Then, he soothed his tongue over the spot. 

Harry cursed and thrust his hips up again. Louis clicked his tongue. “Eager, aren’t we?” he whispered against Harry’s skin. “Only for you,” Harry murmured and fuck if that wasn’t the hottest thing he’d heard all night. 

He licked up Harry’s abdomen, over his tight, toned stomach and up his ribcage toward his chest, relishing the way his tongue slotted over Harry’s ribs as he licked his way up. 

He ended at one of Harry’s nipples, flicking his tongue over it lightly. Louis heard the bed-frame rattle as Harry jerked his wrists against it. “You like that?” Louis asked. “Mmm, so much." Harry hummed absently. 

Louis spent the next couple of minutes teasing Harry’s nipples and enjoying the pretty, breathy noises Harry made in response before pulling away altogether. 

Harry whined in frustration, writhing to try and touch Louis. Without a warning, Louis bent down and licked a long, broad stripe up Harry’s cock. “Fuck, Lou!” Harry moaned, so loud it was almost a shout. 

Louis smirked and gave Harry’s cock a few strokes base to head. Then he bent and took Harry down until his mouth met his hand. Harry swore and Louis felt his dick twitch in his mouth. He pulled off with an obscene popping noise.

 

“Wish you could see yourself.” Louis told him. “Lying there so fucking hot for me. Want me to ride you, Hazza?” he rasped. “Y-yeah. God,” Harry sputtered. “What’s the magic word?” he simpered, his voice high and raspy and taunting. “Please, Lou. Please ride me. Want you so bad. Please,” Harry blurted frantically. 

“Geez, no need to get so worked up,” Louis teased, shifting his weight off Harry to remove his clothes. He whipped his shirt over his head and shimmied out of his shorts and pants. When he was naked, he straddled Harry and positioned himself so that their hips were lined up and their cocks moved together whenever Louis shifted. Harry threw his head back and made a high, keening noise at the friction. 

Louis leaned forward to kiss Harry roughly, tangling their tongues together. Then he pulled away and replaced his mouth with two of his fingers. Harry’s face showed his confusion for a split second, then he realized what Louis was doing and moaned, sucking eagerly on Louis’ fingers and soaking them with spit. 

“There you go, baby,” Louis praised, pushing a sweaty lock of long, curly hair from Harry’s forehead. After a couple seconds, Louis withdrew his fingers and reached behind himself to push one of them into his ass.

Knowing how much Harry loved it when he was loud, Louis put on a bit of a show to rile Harry up. “Bet you wish you could see me, don’t you, Harry?” he asked breathlessly, moaning loudly as he inserted another finger. “Fucking myself with my fingers.”

Harry nodded, breathing hard. “Bet you look so hot,” he gritted as Louis reached around with his spare hand to tweak Harry’s nipple. Harry let out a strangled moan and Louis took a moment to appreciate how well and truly wound up Harry was.

“Bet I could make you come just like this. What do you think?” he said, bending down to take Harry’s nipple between his teeth. Harry hissed and bucked up again, chasing friction that wasn’t there. “Mm, p—please, Lou,” he stammered desperately.

“I dunno, Harry,” he said slowly climbing off Harry and gripping his cock loosely while also reaching into the bedside cabinet to pull out lube and a condom, taking care not to make any noise.

Not that Harry would have noticed at this point. He was panting, the pink flush on his chest now an angry red that extended from his face to his cock. Louis ripped open the packet with his teeth and carefully opened the bottle, squeezing a generous amount on his fingers and reaching behind himself to pump them into his ass.

He suppressed a groan and turned back to Harry. In one fluid movement, he slid the condom over Harry’s cock and straddled him. Harry gasped and then moaned as Louis gripped his cock and lined it up with his entrance. 

He eased himself down slowly, savoring the delicious burn. The bed-frame rattled as Harry’s whole body jerked. “Oh, my god, Lou. Oh, my god, Lou,” he chanted like a prayer, rutting his hips upward. Louis sunk down a little deeper, taking Harry all the way. 

“Mm, god, you feel so good,” he hissed through gritted teeth. “So big I’m still gonna be able to feel it tomorrow.” Harry moaned at the words as Louis bounced on his dick. Then Louis leaned forward and joined their lips, slipping his tongue into Harry’s mouth for a slow, filthy kiss. 

Harry responded enthusiastically, moaning into Louis’ mouth and canting his hips upward, thrusting into Louis' body. "God, Lou. So good, babe. So fucking good.  Best I've ever had," Harry babbled. 

"Fucking hell," Louis gritted out. "So gorgeous like this, Hazza. All laid out for me, taking it so good. You feel amazing." Harry whimpered and dug his heels into the bed so he could fuck into Louis even harder.

Louis thrusts became messier after that, moving in choppy circles now rather than up and down. He licked down the skin of Harry's chest, salty with sweat, and mouthed around his butterfly tattoo, scraping his teeth against the skin.

Harry seemed beyond coherent speech at this point, communicating with low, desperate moans.Louis could tell he was close, about an inch from the edge. He prolonged the moment, pulling up so that Harry’s cock was almost entirely out of him. 

Then he tangled a hand in Harry’s hair and pulled hard before slamming back down. “Nnnghh, fuck, Lou!” Harry shouted, straining hard against the necktie securing his wrists. 

Then he was coming, his whole body tensed and his chest shining with a sheen of sweat and his mouth gaping in an exaggerated O. After several moments, his body relaxed, but his breathing was still labored and he was making tugging motions with his hands.

 

“N—need to touch you, Lou. Now,” he stammered frantically. Louis leaned forward and fumbled with the necktie until it was loose enough for Harry to pull his wrists out. Harry pulled the bandana high enough so that he could see and flipped Louis over, swinging his leg so that he was straddling him. 

He leaned down and kissed Louis sloppily, then moved down the bed until his face with level with Louis’ still-painfully hard cock. He took most of Louis’ length in one swallow, sucking like his life depended on it. Louis gasped and thrust up into his mouth. "Fuck, Harry. Your fucking mouth," he moaned. "So pretty. Fucking made for sucking my cock."

Harry moaned and gagged slightly around his cock, but continued. Louis reached down and gripped a handful of Harry’s hair and tugged. “M’so close already,” he murmured in a rough whisper. “Feels so good, Hazza, fuck.” Harry redoubled his efforts, taking Louis all the way down. 

Louis began to tense up, and he pulled on Harry’s hair to signal that he was about to come. 

Harry pulled off and looked up at Louis, green eyes wide. “Come on my face,” he rasped and, fuck, there was spit running down his chin and his eyes were watering and his voice was completely wrecked and Louis only had to palm his cock once before he was groaning and coming on Harry’s outstretched tongue and his bright pink lips and hollowed-out cheeks.

Watching Harry eagerly lick his lips, Louis vaguely wondered what amazing thing he’d done to deserve this, because holy shit.

 

“That was amazing. You’re fucking amazing,” Louis murmured in Harry’s ear after his breathing had calmed. Harry burrowed closer and nuzzled Louis’ neck and practically fucking purred, which made Louis grin even wider. 

“Seriously. You’re so hot like that. Why didn’t you tell me that you’re into that kind of thing?” Louis asked. Harry thought for a moment. “I dunno. I’m usually not, honestly. I usually can’t relax enough to actually enjoy it.” 

Louis nodded. He totally understood how hard it could be to let yourself be vulnerable like that. But from the very beginning, there had always been this strong sense of chemistry and—Louis didn’t know exactly how to describe it—trust, almost between Harry and him. 

“I don’t want you to ever feel uncomfortable with me,” Louis told him, voice suddenly serious. “Like, telling me what you want or don’t want. Just wanna make you feel good,” he finished softly. 

The look Harry gave him was somehow piercing and warm at the same time, and it almost made Louis shiver. “I—thank you for saying that, Louis. I’m glad you brought it up, and I feel the same way. I don’t ever want you to feel like you have to hide anything.”

Louis scratched his ear and looked fixedly down at his hands. “Yeah, it’s just that—well, I’ve been with people who, y’know, weren’t so respectful of boundaries and it was—not fun.”

He cleared his throat, which had suddenly become quite dry. Then he chanced a look up at Harry, whose bright green eyes were blazing. “Lou,” Harry said so softly it was almost a whisper, still looking at Louis like he could see right through him.

 

Then Louis’ stomach growled loudly which effectively ruined the intensity of the moment. Louis chuckled shakily. “M’kind of starving,” he said apologetically. “I came straight from a run and I still haven’t eaten.” 

Harry raised an eyebrow. “I kinda figured. You stink,” he said, wrinkling his nose. “Hey! You’re the one who called to tell me you were wanking! What was I supposed to do?” Louis asked indignantly. 

Harry laughed again and pressed his nose into the hollow of Louis’ throat. “No, it’s okay. I actually like it when you’re all sweaty. Is that weird?” Louis absently carded his fingers through Harry’s curls and grinned.

“No, I don’t think so. I like that you like it,” he murmured. Harry hummed and tipped his face back up so that their lips met for a quick peck, which quickly became a full-blown make-out. Which was all well and good until Louis’ stomach growled again, louder and more insistently this time. 

“Tell you what—why don’t you go shower and I’ll order us some food?” Harry asked. Louis nodded gratefully. “What are you in the mood for?” Harry asked, pulling his laptop off his bedside table as Louis rolled out of bed.

“Mmmm, sushi?” Louis asked. “Maybe that place you were talking about the other day?” Harry’s eyes lit up. “Sushi sounds so good right now. I’ll just get a few rolls and we can share?” 

Louis nodded and padded to the bathroom to enjoy a hot shower that was substantially nicer than the shitty shower in his own flat.

 

Half an hour later, Louis had changed into a pair of Harry’s sweats and long-sleeved Oxford t-shirt. “If you ever tell anyone I wore this, I will deny it,” he told Harry soberly as he’d rolled up the too-long sleeves.

Harry rolled his eyes. “I really don’t understand how some silly football rivalry can make you hate Oxford so much. Louis’ eyes narrowed. “Silly football rivalry?” he repeated, putting the phrase in air-quotes. 

They bickered thoughtlessly until the food arrived. Then they set up camp on Harry’s large leather sofa, spreading the rolls across the coffee table and perching Harry’s laptop in the middle so they could watch _Sherlock_ while they ate. 

“Y’know, I would have pegged you as the type who didn’t like people to eat on your furniture. One of those ‘food belongs in the kitchen’ people,” Louis remarked with his mouth full of salmon-avocado roll.

“You try being that type of person with Niall as your best mate,” he said drily. Louis laughed so hard that he threatened to up-end the little plastic container of soy sauce he’d balanced on the arm of the sofa. “True,” he agreed a minute later, still chuckling. 

 

_Harry_

Autumn had given way to winter and the days passed in a rush of morning runs with Nick and and long hours studying in Lou’s favorite coffee shop and pints with Niall and nights spent shut up in his flat with Lou. 

He never thought that he would get to this point, but Harry was beginning to feel a sense of attachment to his life in York. To his cluttered little flat and to the old, dusty history building where he had his classes and to his favorite dingy diner and to the park where he ran. 

Without even realizing it, York had become a kind of home. A place that he would miss if he had to leave. And that was frankly shocking given how miserable he had been when he’d first moved. 

If someone had told Harry six months ago that he would be happy anywhere but Oxford or Cambridge, he would have told them to come off it. Because six months ago, Harry had been the kind of person who had almost derailed all of his plans just because he didn’t get his way. 

He had been the kind of person who privately looked down his nose at York and the people who lived here, assuming that they couldn’t hold a candle to the people he’d left behind. 

Harry was beginning to understand that his shitty attitude had been largely unwarranted, the result of his entitlement and the huge chip he’d been carrying on his shoulder. Now he was embarrassed when he thought back on those first few weeks. Before he’d really met anyone. Before he’d met Lou.

Because if he was being honest with himself, Lou had sparked a lot of the changes in Harry’s mindset. Louis was so real and unpretentious and not afraid to call him on his bullshit.

Lou couldn’t stand snobbish behavior in any form so he didn’t make excuses for Harry when he acted like a prat, and Harry wasn’t used to that. Louis challenged him, which sometimes pissed him off, but also pushed him to be better.

The other day, Niall had remarked, “I dunno how I put up with you before Lou came along.” When Harry had asked what he meant, Niall had just shrugged and said, “You’re different now. Good different.”

* * *

Fortunately, he thought that Nick was starting to enjoy life in York a bit more as well, now that he’d had some time to adjust. He spent their latest Saturday morning run enthusiastically telling Harry about a work function that he was co-hosting. 

“The gallery has this annual benefit, and usually they do a stuffy black-tie gala, but I suggested that we lighten things up a bit and do cocktails at this really cool little jazz club and everyone loved the idea!” he said, beaming with pride as they looped around the abbey ruins. 

“I’ve gotten all these bands to agree to play for free and the venue is hosting us for free too, open bar and all, y’know as their contribution to the fundraiser. So we keep all the money from ticket sales!” 

Harry beamed at his friend. “Fucking crushing it, Grimmy! No surprises there!” he said as they came to the end of their route and automatically turned toward the diner where they always breakfasted on Saturday mornings. 

After a few moments of silence, Nick looked over at him, his expression careful and a bit nervous. “You wouldn’t want to come, would you?” he asked as they slid into their usual booth at the diner. 

“To the benefit thing?” Harry asked. Nick nodded, speaking quickly, hopefully. “It’s open to the public, like anyone can buy a ticket. They’re a bit expensive, but God knows you can afford it,” he said, smiling slyly. 

“Yeah, absolutely!” Harry grinned. “How much are the they?” he asked. “They’re 250 each,” Nick replied. “Ridiculous, I know, but we had to hike them up to make money on the damn thing,” he said grinning sheepishly.

Harry winced internally, but nodded and said, “Understandable. At least it’s for a good cause, right?” Nick beamed. “Thanks, Haz!” he said happily. Harry grinned back. “I can’t wait! Hey, I can finally meet some of the fancy art snobs you’re always talking about,” he laughed.

Nick frowned. “They’re actually quite nice,” he replied, just a touch defensively. “And since when do you call people snobby?” he asked. Harry sensed he had hit a nerve and backed off at once.

“Sorry, mate. Didn’t mean anything by it, I’m sure they’re great. I’m excited to meet all of them!” Nick’s easy smile returned as a waitress came by to take their orders. After she’d left with their menus, Nick turned back to him. “I’m glad you’re coming Hazza. It’s next Saturday night from 8 to 11.”

Harry automatically pulled out his phone to check his calendar. “Next Saturday? Fuck, m’supposed to go to this mini golfing thing with Lou,” he said. Nick’s face fell, which made Harry’s stomach twist guiltily. 

“Could I maybe bring Lou along?” Harry asked. “Like, obviously get two tickets or whatever.” Nick studied him for a long moment, his brown eyes inscrutable. After a moment, he nodded. “Yeah, course you can,” he said. “The more, the merrier.” 

Harry beamed and ruffled Nick’s hair affectionately. “Great! I’ll get our tickets later today if Lou’s up for it!” he exclaimed. “This is perfect!” Nick smiled weakly. “Yeah. Perfect,” he repeated, his voice a bit tight.

The more he thought about it, the more Harry liked this idea. This could be the opportunity for Nick and Lou to start over. Maybe if things went well next week, they could get on well as Lou got on with Niall. 

Harry made a mental note to text Lou and ask him if he’d be willing to change their plans. He knew that art gallery benefits weren’t exactly Lou’s scene, but Harry hoped that he’d be able to convince him to go along; they could listen to music and make fun of all the stuffy art people take advantage of the open bar together, which sounded pretty perfect to Harry.


	13. 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'M ALIVE!!
> 
> I am so sorry that this update has been so slow. A lot of things have been slowing me down including but not limited to writer's block, studying for the LSAT, and the results of US presidential election. ANYWAYS. Here it is, I really hope you enjoy!
> 
> Comments give me life, so leave them! :)

Louis shrugged his black blazer over his shoulders and stared at his reflection critically. He tilted his head to the side then ran his fingers through his hair, aiming for artfully messy but achieving slightly disheveled instead. 

After another minute of increasingly frustrated tousling, Louis sighed and gave up, giving himself one last once-over. He had chosen to wear a white t-shirt under his blazer with black skinny jeans that cut off right above his ankles and black brogues. 

He looked himself up and down, brushed a speck of dust off his jacket, and thanked God for his natural ability to maintain a tan. When he was more or less satisfied that he didn’t look completely hideous, he grabbed his wallet and keys from his desk, slipped into his peacoat, and headed for the door. 

He and Harry were going to this benefit thing for Nick’s gallery tonight, and Louis was surprised to find that he was actually a little anxious about it. 

When Harry had texted him last week asking if they could take a rain check on mini-golf and do this instead, Louis had been slightly annoyed that Nick of all people had managed to sabotage what promised to be a fun night of ball-handling (pun fully intended) with some stuffy fundraiser. He had been tempted to grumble to Harry that hobnobbing with fancy art people wasn’t exactly his idea of a great Saturday night. 

That had changed at work that Tuesday. Harry had looked up from his book after they’d been working in silence for about half an hour and said, “I’ve been thinking about this gallery thing.” Louis had been on the cusp of rolling his eyes and half-jokingly asking if they really had to go. 

But then Harry had continued. “I’m excited for you to get to know Nick a bit better. He really is such a cool guy; I think you two could actually get on quite well.” And then he’d given Louis this look that was fond and hopeful and apprehensive all at the same time and a flush had bloomed high on his cheeks and the retort Louis had been about to make died in his throat. 

Because even though Louis was pretty damn sure that he and Nick would never “get on quite well,” that look had made Louis’ heart feel like it had swelled about three times bigger than usual, and it had made him promise himself that he was going to have a good attitude for Harry’s sake.

Harry, who had never been anything but lovely to Louis’ friends and who always let Louis choose where they got takeaway and who was too fucking nice to see that Nick obviously had the hots for him. For Harry, Louis could definitely play nice with Nick Grimshaw for a night. Even if that meant going to a party where he’d probably stick out like sore thumb.

 

On his way out the door, he poked his head into the living room and saw Liam and Zayn sprawled on the couch midway through a _Lord of the Rings_ marathon. 

“Dude—Sam was so gay for Frodo. Why else would he have put up with all that bullshit?” Zayn was saying as Liam laughed and shoved him. “Maybe because he was a good friend? Jesus, ever heard of loyalty, Zee?”

Louis crossed to the couch and perched on its arm, leaning over to poach a handful of popcorn from the bowl sitting between the boys. 

Both of them looked up. “Lou, back me up here. Sam definitely wanted to have steamy hobbit sex with Frodo, right?” Zayn asked, whacking Louis’ hand away when he tried to grab a second handful. 

“Aw, Zee. Never knew you were such a romantic,” Louis said through a mouthful of popcorn. Liam laughed and Zayn scoffed. 

“So are you two knob-heads just gonna sit here all night?” Louis asked them as he rose from the couch. Liam and Zayn looked at each other and grinned. “Yeah, that was pretty much the plan,” Zayn said matter-of-factly. 

“Might have to make a Tesco run if this one doesn’t stop scarfing the popcorn, though,” Liam said, poking Zayn’s side and making him chuckle. Louis rolled his eyes. They might not be able to get their shit together enough to confess their feelings, but his best mates were quickly turning into an old married couple. 

“Well, if you change your mind maybe we can go for drinks after this benefit thing,” he said. At that, they both looked up at him. “I’d forgotten that was tonight. So that’s why you’re all dressed up,” Zayn remarked.

“I don’t see how you forgot,” Liam replied drily. “What with Louis bringing it up every five seconds all week long.” Louis gave Liam a withering glance. “Fuck off, mate. Wasn’t every five seconds.” Liam waved his hand carelessly. “Every 10, then. Details.”

Zayn laughed and high-fived Liam. “ Right, well I’m feeling very attacked right now,” Louis announced dramatically, which prompted both of the boys to laugh and hurl popcorn at him.

Louis threw his hands over his face and retreated to the doorway. “M’not cleaning that up, you fucks!” he said on his way out. “Have fun, mate!” Liam called as Louis reached the front door.

 

He was supposed to be meeting Harry at 7:30 outside Harry’s flat. To Louis’ chagrin, Harry was already waiting when he walked up. “I’m not even late this time!” Louis said incredulously. “I was sure I’d beat you for once!” Harry looked at his watch. “It’s 7:31,” he pointed out. “But to be fair, one minute late is quite early for you.” 

Louis chuckled and then Harry stepped into the light of a streetlamp and Louis’ throat suddenly felt a bit dry because, damn. Harry was wearing his version of a suit, which was obviously both different from and far superior to a normal suit. 

He had on a black-button down unbuttoned enough to expose the tattoos on his chest and a black blazer and a ridiculous black and white scarf patterned a bit like a bandana and black slacks that clung to his thighs and black leather boots and the whole thing literally made Louis a bit short of breath. 

“Jesus, Harold, you fucking rock star,” he purred, slipping closer. Harry smirked, then looked Louis up and down, eyes darkening. He gripped Louis’ arms and pulled their bodies flush. 

“Mm, you look hot, too, Lou” he hummed slightly breathlessly. Louis marveled at the fact that he was the cause of that shaky exhalation of breath. Because it was completely fucking beyond him how a maddeningly and intoxicatingly beautiful creature like Harry could be affected by him.

Sure, Louis had always been fairly confident in his looks but…well, Harry was Harry, with his tattoos and his tight trousers and his obscenely wide and talented mouth and just everything, really. 

“Wish I could take you upstairs right now and get those clothes off you,” Harry breathed, pressing their bodies even closer. Louis took a deep breath to clear his head, then took a step back, cracking a grin at the displeased look that crossed Harry’s stupidly handsome face at the loss of contact. 

“Don’t be such a horn-dog all the time, Harold,” he teased. Harry burst out laughing. “A horn-dog? That’s a new one,” he said. Louis grabbed his forearm and started tugging him off the stoop. “C’mon, then! Your friend’s waiting on us, remember?” 

Harry groaned. “Oh, sod him, anyways,” he said and Louis knew that he was joking, but it made him grin smugly nonetheless.

“Where is this place anyway?” Louis asked after they’d walked a few steps away from Harry’s building. It turns out that the jazz club hosting the benefit was in York’s Old Town, which was a ways away from the university neighborhood where they both lived.

“It’s too far to walk and we’ll be drinking so I figured we probably shouldn’t drive. So I’ve arranged for a car,” Harry explained. “Should be on the corner any moment.” 

Louis looked begrudgingly impressed. “Arranged for a car?” he asked drily. “Aren’t we fancy?” Harry rolled his eyes. “Shut up. It’s an Uber.” Louis sighed. “And here I thought we’d be rolling up in a limo. Silly me.” 

 

Once the car had arrived and they’d slipped into the backseat, Louis turned to Harry. “So. Tell me more about this event we’re going to.” Harry scratched his head. “I actually don’t know much. Just that it’s like, the annual fundraiser for Nick’s gallery. And that he played a huge part in organizing it.” 

Harry spent the rest of the ride gushing about all of the things that Nick had done to set everything up. Louis tried very hard to ignore the unpleasant burning sensation that ignited in the pit of his stomach at the way that Harry’s eyes lit up talking about Nick. 

This night was about making Harry happy, and Louis had an inkling that it wouldn’t make Harry too happy if he acted like a petty, jealous idiot. 

So he made himself beam and say, “Wow, that’s really impressive! I’m excited to see it!” in the most enthusiastic tone he could muster. Harry looked a little caught-off-guard for a moment, then his smile brightened. “ Yeah, it should be cool,” he agreed, brushing a strand of hair behind Louis’ ear. 

“I’m happy you’re going with me,” he said, his voice becoming lower, huskier. Which set off an entirely different kind of fireworks in Louis’ stomach. 

“Just promise you won’t leave me to talk to the fancy art people by myself,” Louis said, trying his hardest not to broadcast the nervousness he was feeling about having to socialize with so many people he didn’t know, people who were probably cool and older and edgy and entirely out of Louis’ comfort zone. 

A flood of warm relief curled in his chest when he felt Harry’s hand close over the top of his. Why would I do that? You’re much more interesting than the fancy art people,” Harry told him with a crooked grin that was mischievous and affectionate and too fucking charming to be allowed.

Louis was trying to do something other than smile stupidly at Harry’s last comment when the car jolted to a stop and the driver turned in his seat to say, “Here we are, lads.”

Louis waited until Harry had slid out of his seat to take the deep breath he’d been holding in. Right. Louis was going to go in there and be carefree and social and friendly like a normal person.

Which, okay, Louis wasn’t exactly a normal person, but it shouldn’t be too hard to pretend, right? He was going to mingle and he was going to act like Nick Grimshaw’s best bloody mate and he was not going to bitch about it, because this evening wasn’t about him. It was about Harry.

He was going to be perfectly fine. Great, even. Pep talk over, he thanked the driver and followed Harry out of the car.

* * *

The first thought that Louis had when he stepped into the club was “oh, shit.” Because this was definitely not the kind of party that we was used to.

Which yeah, he’d been expecting that because the kind of party he was used to involved shitty beer and a pounding bass and stupid drinking games. And he had known that the benefit would be quite a bit more high-brow than that but he hadn’t been expecting _this._

The club’s ambience made Louis feel like he’d just stepped into the headquarters of some elite secret society. The room was dimly illuminated by an ornate, low-hanging chandelier, as well as candles flickering on every table. All of the furniture was plush, buttery leather. 

The bar was set against the back wall and made of dark, vintage-looking carved wood. There was a beautiful stained glass window set behind it that caught the light of the chandelier and made the colors of the design dance against the walls and glimmer brightly.

The band was set up on a small stage against a side wall, gathered in a semi-circle around a gorgeous grand piano. They were playing some smooth jazz number that perfectly offset the buzz of laughter and conversation that filled the room. 

Louis looked around with his mouth agape. He hadn’t even known that there were places this posh in York. It was impressive and intimate at the same time, bustling without feeling overcrowded. Louis had to hand it to Nick; this was pretty amazing. 

Louis was snapped out of his reverie by a woman’s voice. “Name?” He looked up to find a tall, thin girl with short black hair looking at him quizzically. “Louis—Tomlinson,” Louis said, slightly unsurely. The girl consulted the iPad she was holding.

“Ah, here you are!” she said brightly, tapping the screen once. “Welcome, Mr. Tomlinson! The coat check is right around that corner,” she said gesturing behind her. “Right, okay, thanks!” he said, taking another step into the room.

 

Louis continued into the lounge, scanning for Harry, whom he’d managed to lose in the shuffle. A moment later, he felt a hand on the small of his back. “There you are,” came a familiar, deep voice. “Thought I’d lost you for a moment there.” 

Louis smiled and tried not to think about the relief and comfort and security that he felt from Harry’s mere presence. “Oh, you won’t get rid of me that easily, Styles,” he said with a small, devilish smile. 

Harry grinned back, lazy and slow. “Wanna go ditch your coat and I’ll get us drinks?” he asked. Louis nodded. “There’s a menu if you want to choose,” Harry said, picking up a piece of creamy white card-stock from the nearest vacant table. 

Louis scanned the drinks menu bemusedly. All of the drinks had about twelve ingredients each, some of which Louis had never even heard of. “What the fuck is elderflower?” he asked after a few moments. Harry looked like he was trying not to roll his eyes. “You know what? I’ll take care of it.” 

They split up, Louis heading to the small coat booth and Harry across the room to the bar. The boy at the coat check station looked maybe a year or two younger than Louis. He had shaggy blonde hair and a white button down that was a size too big on him. 

“Can I take your coat, sir?” he asked politely. Louis screwed up his face. “Oh, God, don’t call me sir. I’m like, your age,” he said before he could stop himself. The boy laughed. “I hate that, too,” he confided. “But you know how it is at these things. Protocol,” he said, putting the last word in air-quotes. 

“Right, well bugger that,” Louis said, which made the boy burst out laughing. “Wish the rest of this lot agreed with you,” he said, gesturing around the room. 

 

Louis was about to reply when he saw someone coming up behind him from the corner of his eye. He glanced over his shoulder and immediately recognized Nick, who was undeniably looking very smart in a tailored gray suit with a forest green necktie that brought out the red in his hair. 

Louis remembered his pledge to play nice and hitched a warm smile onto his face. “Hullo, Nick!” he said. “You’re looking dapper, mate.” Nick looked at him skeptically for a beat, as if trying to decide whether or not he was being serious. 

Then he smiled back and reached out to shake Louis’ hand. “Hi, Louis. Glad you could make it,” he replied. “I was just dropping this off for a coworker,” he continued, holding up a coat with one hand and then handing it over to the coat check guy with a murmured thank you. 

“Right. Shall we head back into the fray and find Harry?” Nick asked him after he’d slid the coat check ticket into his pocket. Louis nodded, then waved to the coat check guy and followed Nick back to the lounge area.

“This is really something,” Louis said to Nick as they approached the bar. “Haz told me that you arranged the whole thing. It’s really, really cool.” Nick grinned indulgently and rolled his eyes. 

“Harry’s being too nice, as usual,” he said. “I definitely didn’t arrange the whole thing. But thanks. I’m pretty happy with the way things turned out.” At that moment, they spotted Harry leaving the bar with a drink in each hand. 

Both Nick and Louis grinned and waved at him as he approached. “Hazza” they said at the exact same time. Harry beamed at the pair of them and handed Louis his drink before slipping an arm over his shoulder.

“Lou! You found Nick!” He turned to Nick, who was looking at Harry’s arm with the ghost of a frown on his face. “Nice party, Grimmy!” Harry said appreciatively. Nick looked up and the frown was gone. 

“Thanks, mate! It’s going even better than I’d hoped, to be totally honest with you. Really good turnout. I think we’ll raise a good bit more money than we thought we would.”

At that, an unpleasant thought occurred to Louis. Tickets for an event like this can’t have been cheap. When they had been making arrangements for tonight, Louis had asked Harry how much he owed him for the ticket and Harry had immediately shrugged it off. 

“I invited you, so I’ll buy your ticket,” he’d said flippantly. Now Louis found himself squirming guiltily and wondering exactly how much Harry had spent on the tickets. He was spared from any further angst when he heard Nick say, “I’ve got to make the rounds and check in with some people. Do you want to meet some of my coworkers?” 

Harry nodded eagerly and looked at Louis. “That okay?” he asked quietly and Louis felt a warm surge of appreciation for how fucking thoughtful Harry could be sometimes. “Yeah, of course!” Louis said, ignoring the small wave of anxiety coursing through him at the thought of having to socialize with a bunch of strangers. 

It wasn’t that Louis disliked people in general. It was more the awkward introductions and small talk bit that he loathed with every fibre of his being. But he told himself to suck it up and allowed Harry to steer him across the room with a gentle hand on the crook of his elbow toward a cozy nook in one corner of the room, where two men and a woman were deep in conversation. 

“Oi, you lot!” Nick called amiably and they looked up. They looked to be in their mid-to-late-twenties, and they made an extremely striking group. 

The woman was very pale with long, shiny red hair and green eyes even brighter than Harry’s. One of the men was slender and Asian, with impossibly high cheekbones, brown, almond-shaped eyes and long black hair pulled back into a low ponytail at the nape of his neck. The other guy looked like a lumberjack in a suit; he was tall and burly with a thick beard and sparkling blue eyes.

 

“There you are, Nick!” the larger man boomed. “We were beginning to think that some of the stuffy old donors had kidnapped you!” the woman said with a sly smile. 

Nick laughed. “No, not yet,” he said. “I actually wanted to introduce you lot to some friends of mine,” he said, turning to Harry and Louis. 

“This is Harry, my mate from school.” Nick said, and Louis could have sworn that he saw the woman perk up a bit, as if she recognized the name, like Harry was someone that Nick talked about a lot. 

“Yeah, because Nick and Harry are friends. Stop being stupid,” Louis told himself as the group waved and murmured hello to Harry. 

“And this is my date, Louis,” Harry said, squeezing the hand he still had on Louis’ elbow. Louis chose not to concentrate on how much he liked the easy way the word’s “my date” had rolled off Harry’s tongue and instead got a bit lost in the tilt of Harry’s lips and how he might actually be able to write poetry about those fucking lips. 

Then he realized that he needed to snap the fuck out of it and turned to the group with a smile and friendly wave. 

“And these are some of the people I have to deal with every day,” Nick said, turning to the group, who collectively rolled their eyes. “Fuck off, Grimmy. You love us,” the Asian man retorted. “If you say so,” Nick teased.

“Right. Well, this is Sonya. She was my right hand woman for tonight’s event.” He gestured to the red-haired woman, who waved. “And Odin. He’s an incredible photographer,” he said, pointing to the brawny man. “And this is Akira. He’s working on a performance art piece for an exhibition we have going right now.”

Harry grinned. “So you’re the brilliant performance artist Nick’s always going on about. Your work sounds really amazing. Pleasure to meet you,” he said, extending his hand.

“Oh, god, Haz. Don’t stroke his ego any more, please. He’ll be even more unbearable than usual,” Nick deadpanned. Odin and Sonya roared with laughter while Akira scowled.

As Nick made the introductions, Louis was taken aback by how at ease he was. Louis had always thought of Nick as tense and a bit uptight; but here, he was clearly in his element, relaxed and even charming.

He had started telling a story about the first time he’d met Akira and the rest of the group was hanging on his every word.

“Honestly, it was like he thought I’d been brought on as his personal assistant,” Nick told the others. “I wasn’t that bad,” Akira insisted. “You ordered me to get you coffee, mate!” Nick laughed.

“Okay, I was a dick,” he admitted. “But to be fair, I’d been up all night  working on this new piece and I was in a really strange headspace.”

Sonya rolled her eyes. “This is why it’s impossible to work with artists. It’s always ‘oh, I was in a strange headspace’ or ‘oh, my chakras were misaligned.’ Why not just admit that you’re a twat, am I right?”

Louis snorted. He was pleasantly surprised that these attractive, trendy people actually seemed fairly down-to-earth.

 

Then Nick turned to Sonya and started discussing logistics for the rest of the event while Harry asked Akira about his installation at the gallery and Louis sipped on his drink awkwardly. 

After a moment, he turned to the lumberjack bloke, Odin. “You’re not named after the Norse god Odin, are you?” he asked. Odin’s mouth popped open. “Yes! How did you know? No one ever gets that!” 

Louis grinned sheepishly. “I was obsessed with mythology as a kid and then I took this class last year on ancient religions, so I probably know more than I should about Norse gods,” he chuckled. 

“You’re a student, then?” Odin asked curiously. “Yeah, m’studying history at University of York,” Louis said. “Your football team had one hell of a season, eh?” Odin asked and this time it was Louis’ turn to gape at him. 

“You follow York football?” he asked incredulously. Odin grinned and nodded. “A bit. I put myself through art school as an assistant for a sports photographer and I became quite the football fan. I usually go a few times every year, though I wasn't able to drag my girlfriend to any matches this season, unfortunately.” Louis grinned broadly. 

“I’m York’s attacking midfielder,” he told Odin. “That’s fucking aces, mate,” Odin exclaimed, clapping Louis on the shoulder. They spent the next several minutes excitedly discussing York’s excellent season and a charity match they were playing in the spring.

They were interrupted by Sonya tapping Odin on the shoulder. “I’m going to have to pull you and Akira away,” she said apologetically. “We want all the artists to make the rounds, cozy up to the donors and all that,” she explained, rolling her eyes.

“Ah, right!” Odin said. “It was good to meet you, Louis. I’ll definitely try and make it to that charity match you were telling me about!” Louis grinned and shook Odin’s hand. “Yeah, man. Sounds great.” Then Sonya was whisking the two men across the room, leaving Nick, Harry, and Louis in a now-almost-deserted corner of the room.

 

“Damn, Nick! Your coworkers are hot,” Louis said as soon as they were out of earshot. “Maybe I should have gone into the arts,” he said thoughtfully. 

Harry’s grip on his knee tightened slightly. “Yeah, you seemed to be getting very friendly with Odin,” he murmured, enunciating the name slightly mockingly. Louis raised an eyebrow. “Yes, well, he was a very friendly bloke,” Louis replied innocently, choosing not to mention that Odin was straight and that the two of them had not even been kind of flirting.

Harry didn’t say anything, just stared at him for a prolonged moment, green eyes a shade darker than usual. 

Right, well, I’ve gotta go check in with my boss,” Nick said, breaking the silence. “I’ll see you guys a bit later,” he promised. “The band’s performing pretty soon, so I’ll try to come find you for that.” Harry smiled and nodded. “Sounds good. See you in a bit, Grimmy.” Nick waved and headed across the room toward a tall, glamorous woman standing by the bar.

 

Once he’d gone, Louis turned to Harry. “Let’s play a game,” he suggested. Harry quirked an eyebrow. “A game? What kind of game?” Louis’ eyes lit up. “Okay. So I point to a person and you have to tell me who they are and why they’re here.” 

“How am I supposed to know that?” Harry asked. Louis scoffed. “Context clues, obviously.” 

He scanned the room. “Like—this bloke, for instance,” he said, directing Harry’s gaze to a short man with a handlebar mustache and horn-rimmed glasses who was gesticulating wildly, almost spilling the glass of wine he was holding. 

“He’s a journalist from the York Press who fancies himself an art critic because he covers this type of event every once and a while and has seen a few art house films.” 

Harry snorted with laughter, nearly spitting out a mouthful of his drink. “Your turn. You do—her,” Louis said, gesturing to an older lady draped in furs. Ten minutes later, they had constructed an elaborate hypothetical love triangle between three people having a conversation at the bar. 

 

Nick rejoined them just as the hypothetical was getting slightly ridiculous (it may or may not have involved an international jewelry heist.) 

“I thought that the blonde was the jewelry thief,” Harry said. Louis shook his head. “No, no! She’s the thief’s mistress, remember?” Nick’s face scrunched in confusion as he approached. “Jewelry thief? What in the hell are you two on about?” 

Harry and Louis looked up at him in surprise and then burst out laughing when they realized how absurd they must have sounded. “Oh, God, it’s nothing,” Harry chuckled. “Just being idiots,” he said, beaming fondly at Louis.

At that moment, a waiter approached them with a tray of champagne flutes. “Champagne?” he asked them. They each took a glass. “God, this is classy,” Louis said appreciatively as he took a long gulp from his glass. 

Nick chuckled. “I know, I kind of can’t believe I organized this shit.” Harry laughed too. “Yeah, I was gonna say—it’s not exactly your scene, is it, Grimmy?” 

Louis raised an eyebrow. “It’s not?” he asked before he could stop himself. “Are you kidding?” Nick said incredulously. “I’ve basically spent the last five years of my life hopping between dingy studios in London.” 

Louis laughed. “I think you just described my adolescence, mate. Except it was shitty basements in Doncaster.” Nick raised his glass. “Well. Cheers to better parties and better booze than we grew up with.” 

Louis clinked his glass against Nick’s. “Hear, hear,” he said enthusiastically. “Much better booze,” he added as he took another gulp of champagne. 

Louis glanced over at Harry, who had gone quiet. “Y’need to do the clinking thing too, Haz. Or else it’s not a proper cheers.” Harry, who had been watching Louis and Nick joke around with an air of shocked delight, shook his head slightly and laughed. “Right. The clinking thing. How could I forget?” he said, raising his glass.

“So,” Louis said in a business-like tone after they had each grabbed a second glass of champagne from a roving member of the wait staff. “Nick, I’m definitely going to be needing some embarrassing stories about Harry’s teenage years. I’m guessing he was a total idiot.” 

Nick tipped his head back and laughed. “Oh, obviously!” he replied. Harry crossed his arms. “If I’d known that you two were going to gang up on me, I would never have introduced you,” he said, huffed, pretending to sulk. 

Louis could see right through it. “Shut up, Harold, you love it,” he said dismissively, which made Nick laugh some more. “As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted,” Nick said loftily, shooting a look at Harry. “Has Harry ever told you about the time we got locked on the roof of the Victoria and Albert on a class trip?” 

Between the drinks and the music and the warm weight of Harry’s hand on his knee, Louis was in such a good mood that he _almost_ didn’t notice the way that Nick was looking at Harry, all tender and doe-eyed. Almost being the key word. 

 

Nonetheless, the three of them spent a surprisingly enjoyable thirty minutes or so talking and getting progressively more buzzed on champagne. Louis asked questions about Nick’s gallery and how he and Harry had become friends and Nick asked Louis about his classes and football and the research that he and Harry had been conducting. 

Harry seemed fairly content to sit back and watch them chat, though he occasionally jumped into the conversation. 

Then Nick’s friends rejoined them to watch the music and speeches. They had all been delighted when Nick’s boss called him up on stage to recognize his role in the event and he’d been forced to give an impromptu speech. 

With his pink cheeks and downcast eyes, it was clear he had been taken by total surprise and his friends were obviously loving it. Akira wolf-whistled and Nick shot a death glare in their direction, which made Harry, Sonya, and Odin dissolve into giggles. 

Louis laughed along with the rest of them and considered the possibility that he might have judged Nick too harshly at first; he was actually a pretty nice bloke and his little crush on Harry seemed innocent enough, especially since Harry was totally oblivious to it. 

The nervousness that Louis had felt at the beginning of the evening seemed almost laughable now. Spending several hours with Harry (who looked absolutely edible) and an open bar couldn’t possibly have gone too wrong. The fact that he had managed not to fall on his ass socially was just the cherry on top. 

 

Before long, the event had obviously started to wind down. The last speech had been made and people were collecting their coats and Nick was milling around by the door wishing people farewell on their way out. Harry and Louis lingered for a bit by the bar, finishing their drinks and chatting with Akira (who turned out to be quite the history buff) about their research project. 

Nick eventually slipped up behind them, plucked the drink from Harry’s hand, and swigged the last few gulps. Harry sputtered indignantly as Nick wiped his hand on his mouth and set down the glass. “Right. Well. Party’s pretty much over, innit?” he said. 

Akira looked down at his watch and cursed under his breath. “Didn’t know it had gotten so late,” he said when he looked up. “I told my friend I’d go to a party she’s having, so I better run.” He shook Harry and Louis’ hands, wrapped Nick in a quick hug, and slipped out the door. 

“Are you leaving or do you have stuff to do here?” Harry asked Nick when it was just the three of them. “My boss said that everything’s pretty much handled, so I’m free to go,” Nick said.

“Where are you lads off to?” Harry pivoted his body toward Louis and met his eyes. Louis could read the question in his gaze.

 

Louis made a quick decision and turned to Nick. “We’re not headed anywhere,” he said brightly. “Would you want to grab a drink somewhere? Celebrate the success of your big event?” he asked. 

Nick’s smile widened and Louis felt Harry’s hand slipping beneath his blazer to rest on the small of his back through the thin fabric of his t-shirt.  Louis grinned and leaned into the touch. 

“Niall had mentioned wanting to grab a pint later tonight as well. I could text him too?” Harry asked. Nick nodded. “Yeah, for sure. God knows I could use a drink after listening to stuffy old men complain about modern art all night. I know a good place pretty close to here.” 

Louis could tell that Harry was trying to act nonchalant about the whole thing, but he had consumed one too many glasses of champagne to be able to totally keep his cool, and he was currentlylooking between Louis and Nick like Christmas had come a month early. 

“Sounds like a plan,” he beamed, and Louis took a moment to appreciate Harry’s smile, how his lips were almost too wide for his face, bitten-looking and absolutely fucking exquisite. H ow he wore his emotions with such earnest, open honesty, his excitement projected in those wide green eyes. How the alcohol and general merriment had colored his cheeks a rosy pink that somehow made his eyes look even brighter. 

God, Louis liked him so much that it actually fucking hurt sometimes. 

And then Harry’s lips were moving and Louis realized that he was saying something to him. “What’s that, love?” he asked. The second the words had left his lips, Louis felt his stomach clench in on itself for half a second, because had he really just called Harry “love?” In public? Louis _never_ did that, actually found the whole concept of pet names mildly revolting. 

Even more shocking was how natural it had felt, how he hadn’t even thought about it before it came out. And that couldn’t mean anything good. 

Harry’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second, flicking between Louis’ eyes and his lips. “I asked if you wanted to text Liam and Zayn. To ask if they want to come along. You’d said that they might want to go out tonight,” he said, voice a hint huskier than usual. 

“Right, yeah. I’ll just duck out and call Zayn,” he said quickly, feeling like he could use the fresh air. “Wanna grab our coats and meet out there in a bit?” he asked, fishing his coat check ticket from his pocket and handing it to Harry.

 

As luck would have it, Liam and Zayn had just finished _The Two Towers_ and were ready to call it quits on their _LOTR_ marathon. Louis instructed them to get their asses in gear and promised to text the address of the bar when he figured out where it was.

He had just rung off when he felt a large pair of hands wrapping around his waist and a warm body pressing against his back. Louis hummed and leaned into Harry’s touch, appreciating the way that the sudden contact and the many glasses of champagne he’d consumed combined to give him a bit of a head-rush.

“The star-crossed lovers are joining us,” he informed Harry. “And Zee said last week he’s going to try and give things a go with Liam so that should be interesting. Where’s Nick? And where’s that bar? I told the lads I’d text them the address.” Louis prattled on as Harry edged his nose up the side of Louis’ neck until he’d reached the soft skin at the bottom of Louis’ ear. 

“Thank you,” Harry breathed, and Louis twisted around to look at him properly. “Thank you for what?” he asked, his face scrunching in confusion. Harry’s smile turned a little bashful when their eyes met.

"For—um, tonight, I guess? For keeping me company at this thing and being lovely to Nick and suggesting drinks and just like—all of it.” At these words, Louis pivoted the rest of his body so that he and Harry were pressed together. 

“Hey, now. Don’t be getting sappy on me. I’m just here for the free alcohol, obviously,” he said with an exaggerated eye roll. But then he looked down and quietly added, “Seriously, though. You don’t have to thank me for trying to make you happy. I like making you happy.” 

And goddammit, Louis was so utterly fucked, standing here and talking about his feelings with Harry and feeling all warm and pleased about it. He was acting like a prize idiot, and he was probably going to pay for it eventually, but he couldn’t bring himself to give a shit, not right now when Harry was looking at him like that. 

Harry’s low rasp snapped him out of his musings. “Still. I’m going to be rewarding your efforts tonight when I get you home. Like, very generously.” Louis felt the sides of his mouth tilting upwards as heat pooled in the bottom of his belly. “Well. In that case, I suppose I’ll accept your thanks. Just to be polite or whatever.” 

Harry hummed and returned his grin. “Just to be polite, hm? What a gentleman.” He closed the space between them to press a long, lingering kiss to Louis’ lips. 

After a moment though, the door to the club opened and Nick stepped outside, pulling on his coat. “Christ, it’s bloody freezing out here,” he said, but his voice trailed away when he saw the two of them wrapped around each other. His cheeks reddened and he looked away quickly. “Oh, sorry. I—uh.” 

Harry glanced over his shoulder and grinned jovially without a trace of embarrassment. “No problem, Grimmy,” he said casually, not even moving to put distance between himself and Louis.

Louis, on the other hand, unlaced his hand from Harry’s hair and took a step back. “So,” he said, shooting Nick a weak and slightly sheepish smile. “Where’s this bar we’re going to?”

* * *

It was 11pm and Niall had just finished his fourth episode of _Game of Thrones_ and the last of the pepperoni and onion pizza he’d ordered earlier that evening _. Oh_ He was just about to call it an early night and head to bed when he got a text from Harry.

“Grabbing drinks with Grimmy and Lou. Wanna join? Niall looked down at his grease-stained t-shirt and baggy sweats. “Sorry, mate. I’m in comfy clothes that I have no intention of changing out of.”

That’s when Harry had started with the whole sad puppy routine. “Please, Nialler? It’s been ages since we went out!” Niall rolled his eyes. “It’s been less than a week, mate,” he replied. At that, Harry had changed tact.

“Everyone loves you, Ni! You’re always the life of the party.” When Niall didn’t reply, he sent a new text. “Please.”

Niall knew what this was actually about, and it had nothing to do with his sparkling personality. Harry wanted a buffer between Nick and Louis in case things got awkward. Which they very well could, considering the fact that both of them were in love with Harry.

Niall loved his friend, but he got the feeling that Harry’s “Nick doesn’t actually fancy me” routine wasn’t entirely sincere. He suspected that, at some level, Harry knew or at least guessed how Nick felt and just chose not to deal with it because it was inconvenient.

Hence the begging for Niall to join their little party. But at the end of the day, Niall knew that he would happily put up with a bit of Harry’s bullshit because he was one of the best people Niall knew and he deserved to be happy.

Still, he might as well get something out of it. “You’re buying my drinks, Haz,” Niall typed and rolled off his bed with a resigned sigh. The things he did for his mates, honestly.

 

 

After Zayn got off the phone with Louis, he stretched his leg across the couch to nudge Liam with a socked foot. “Lou wants to get drinks. With Harry and a couple of his mates.” 

Liam arched an eyebrow. “Really?” he asked, looking a little surprised. “Lou must be in a good mood.” Zayn snorted. He and Liam knew Louis better than just about anyone else. They knew how weird and secretive he was about relationships, swearing up and down that he didn’t actually have feelings for someone, clinging to plausible deniability so that he wouldn’t get hurt. 

But Zayn also knew that he’d never seen Louis like he was around Harry. The way they’d clearly been drawn to each other like two halves of a magnet after the finals match was as undeniable as it was slightly nauseating. 

It was enough to make Zayn really, fervently hope that his best mate could pull his shit together and allow himself to be happy for once.

Speaking of people pulling their shit together, Zayn was planning to do exactly that tonight. After his conversation with Louis last week, he had decided that he was going to try his luck with Liam when the timing felt right. 

They had just spent several highly enjoyable (and—unless Zayn was crazy—slightly flirtatious) hours bickering over the finer points of Tolkien’s masterpiece, and he thought that once they had both had a few drinks, it would be the perfect time to make a move. 

Of course, he was still terrified of being rejected, and even more terrified that he was going to fuck up their friendship. But he also knew that he had never experienced sexual frustration and general emotional angst as intense or drawn-out as this, and he was going to explode if he didn’t find out one way or another. 

So as he and Liam left the flat shortly after 11pm to head to the bar, Zayn was buzzing with the jittery thrill of doing something big and reckless and potentially very stupid. 

 

It might have been Liam’s imagination, or maybe it was his nerves at the thought of drunkenly humiliating himself around Zayn, but the whole cab ride to the bar felt a little strange. Neither he nor Zayn said much and it was an oddly heavy silence, filled with what felt like a mixture of anticipation and dread. 

He could tell that Zayn was restless and keyed up in a way that he hadn’t been during their movie night. He was fidgety: his fingers tapping a frenetic beat onto his knee and his right leg bobbing along rapidly; the whole thing was decidedly un-Zayn-like. 

“So—Harry’s friend Nick is going to be there, right? We talked some at the semi-finals party. He’s a nice guy,” Liam rambled in an attempt to break the almost-palpable tension in the air. Zayn started slightly and then nodded. 

“Lou hates him, though,” Zayn said “Think he’s jealous,” he added after a thoughtful pause. Liam chewed on his lip skeptically. “What’s he got to be jealous of? I hardly know Harry and even I can see that he’s fucking obsessed with Lou.”

Zayn rolled his eyes. “Well yeah, _we_ know that. But y’know Lou. Dramatic and paranoid as all fuck.” He said the last sentence affectionately, and Liam felt a grin slipping onto his own face. Because yeah, they both knew that Louis was about as absurd as a human being could possibly be, but they also knew that they loved his stupid, melodramatic ass. 

“What are the odds that Louis gets all jealous at the bar and causes a scene?” Zayn asked, and Liam roared with laughter even as he shoved Zayn’s shoulder. “That’s awful!” he exclaimed. Zayn just looked at him, completely straight-faced. “And true. Drunk tantrums are like, Louis’ thing,” he said matter-of-factly, which just made Liam laugh harder because he couldn’t exactly deny it.

As they paid the driver and stepped onto the curb, Liam was relieved that the awkwardness of a few minutes ago seemed to have dissipated. He hated those moments when it felt like his feelings for Zayn got in the way of their friendship. 

Liam had come to accept that Zayn didn’t feel the same way he did; hell, he didn’t know if anyone knew what it felt like to pine after someone so hopelessly. But Liam couldn’t bear the thought of fucking up their friendship and losing Zayn for good. 

Sometimes he just couldn’t for the life of him remember how to be friends with Zayn without wanting something more; couldn’t figure out how on earth he had spent two years never noticing the beauty in every single one of Zayn’s features, without staring at the stubble dusting Zayn’s cut jawline and wondering what it would feel like scratching against his own face. And Jesus, there he went again.

Liam snapped out of his Zayn-induced stupor in time to spot a familiar wiry blonde bloke approaching them with a wide smile on his face. 

Liam recognized him from the final match and after-party. He was Perrie’s boyfriend and Harry’s best mate. Irish. Friendly bloke. Neil? Nathan? It was definitely something that started with an N. 

Liam was shit with names and he always felt so bad having to ask someone’s name after they’d already met. “Hullo, uh—,” Liam began, then glanced over at Zayn in a mild panic. Zayn grinned slyly, fully aware of Liam’s predicament.

He nudged Liam with his shoulder before saying, “Hey, Niall,” and clapping the blonde man on the back. Liam shot him a grateful look and was rewarded with another nudge and a crooked smile that shot a jolt of electricity straight to the bottom of his stomach. Jesus, Zayn was so fucking fit and Liam was never going to stop being completely disconcerted by it.

 

“Hello, lads!” Niall greeted them. “They’ve drug you two out as well, then?” he asked, making both Liam and Zayn chuckle. “Yeah, we actually paused a _Lord of the Rings_ marathon for this, believe it or not,” Zayn replied. 

Niall’s eyes lit up. “You two are _LOTR_ fans? No way! You’ll have to invite me to the next one! Love those films, but Pez and Harry won’t ever watch with me,” he pouted.

“Although I’m sure Harry would be falling all over himself to watch them if Lou wanted to,” he snorted, and Liam couldn’t help but be charmed at the way Niall inserted himself into their little group. 

“He’s pretty whipped then, huh? Liam asked. He was half-joking, but he also realized that Niall might be able to fill in some of the gaps in Louis’ infuriatingly vague explanation of his relationship with Harry. Harry seemed a nice enough bloke, but Louis had been his best mate for three years now and Liam couldn’t help being a bit protective. 

Niall chuckled and nodded. “He’s been proper whipped since fucking September. Liam nodded to himself and murmured “Good,” as Zayn rolled his eyes and elbowed Liam lightly. 

“Don’t start interrogating Niall. No need to be a mother hen, Li.” Liam scoffed indignantly. “I’m not interrogating anyone!” he replied. “No, but you were going to,” Zayn said matter-of-factly. Niall laughed and ushered both of them into the bar. 

 

Zayn immediately spotted Louis sitting with Harry, and Nick in a booth near the back of the crowded bar. “Oh good, Lou’s playing nice,” he muttered in Liam’s ear as they approached. 

He could tell that Louis was in the middle of telling a story to the other two, gesticulating madly with both hands as he tipped his head back to laugh at his own joke. 

He caught Zayn’s eye mid-sentence and immediately leapt up from the booth to greet them. “If it isn’t my best mates in the entire world!” he drawled happily, throwing an arm over Zayn and Liam’s shoulders. 

“That means a lot! Thanks, mate!” Niall exclaimed, which made Louis dissolve into giggles. “Aw, Nialler. Y’know I love you,” he slurred. Liam and Zayn exchanged a glance over Louis’ head. No wonder Louis was in such a good mood; he was completely pissed.

“So exactly how many drinks have you had, Lou?” Zayn asked with a knowing smirk at Louis’ red cheeks and giddy grin. Louis scowled. “M’not drunk if that’s what you’re asking.” he said, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring at Zayn imperiously.

Zayn raised an eyebrow as Louis stumbled over his own feet. Liam and Zayn’s eyes met again and they both burst out laughing. “Fuck you!” Louis said. “There was an open bar at the event and then you lot took forever to get here!”

Zayn pat him on the back. “Just try not to embarrass us, yeah?” Louis grumbled something about unsupportive friends as they crossed the room, but he perked up as soon as he saw Harry again.

“Hazza, this is Zayn and Liam!” he beamed. “Lou, we’ve met already,” Zayn pointed out, but he smiled and extended his hand nonetheless. “Good to see you again, man.” 

Harry stumbled over his long legs in his haste to get out of the booth and shake their hands. “Hullo, Zayn! Liam!” he grinned. “Alright?” They both nodded. 

 

“I—uh, I’m glad you guys came!” Harry said earnestly. “Since we didn’t really get to talk much the fist time we met.” He turned to Liam and grinned bashfully. “I dunno if I got a chance to tell you after the match, but you’re an amazing football player, Liam. That save at the end of the match was incredible! And Zayn, Lou told me that you’re building a robot! That’s sick, you’ll have to tell me about it!” 

Zayn couldn’t decide what was more embarrassing: the way that Harry was clearly trying to impress them or how much Louis was obviously loving it, hanging off of Harry’s arm and beaming at him like he’d just won the Nobel Peace Prize. 

“You’re rambling, Haz,” he said affectionately. “He does have a tendency to do that,” came a voice from behind them. Nick had also risen from the booth to shake the boy’s hands.

“Hullo, Nick!” Liam grinned, clapping him on the back. Nick reached forward to return the embrace. Zayn didn’t miss the way that Nick’s eyes flicked down Liam’s body then returned to his face as he pulled away. 

His insides twisted slightly as he remembered seeing the two of them talk for quite a while at the semi-finals after-party. After a moment, he told himself to stop being ridiculous; anyone with eyes could see that Liam was fit and they had just been talking. He needed to get over himself.

 

Niall’s voice jolted Zayn out of his thoughts. “Right, so now that we’ve all said hello, I think that me and Zayn and Liam have some catching up to do, since this lot have been drinking for about 4 hours now,” he announced. 

“Shots, anyone?” Liam and Zayn murmured their assent and the six of them headed to the bar. “Right! A toast! There should be a toast!” Louis announced when all of them were holding shots. Liam and Harry nodded happily while Zayn rolled his eyes and Niall groaned, “Let me have my drink already!” 

Louis shooed him away. “Shut up, you can wait a moment! Nick’s just organized this amazing event we’ve just come from and we should all drink to him and his hard work! Cheers, Nick! Congrats on throwing a sick party, mate!” he said, smiling so that the corners of his eyes crinkled.

Zayn was surprised and a little impressed by how warm and genuine Louis’ words were. Watching Louis at the semi-finals party and listening to him talk afterwards, Zayn knew that his friend really didn’t care for Nick. He wondered absently why Louis had changed his tune all of a sudden.

Then he looked over at Harry and it clicked. This was for Harry; all of it: the getting all dressed up even though Louis hated it and going to some fancy party where he didn’t know anyone and being so nice to Nick and having all of their friends out for drinks after. 

And if Louis could open himself up like that after what he’d been through and after years of being terrified of his own feelings, then Zayn could grow the balls toshow Liam how he felt. 

So that settled it. He was going to do it tonight. The realization emboldened him; it felt like taking two shots in a row and feeling the alcohol enter your bloodstream, feeling yourself getting braver and stupider. 

 

After Louis’ toast, Liam knocked back his shot and grimaced, immediately resolving not to drink too much tonight; he had a Spanish test on Monday and he wasn’t about to let a massive hangover ruin what needed to be a productive day tomorrow. 

He decided that it was going to be a low-key kind of night: he’d get to know Harry a bit better, have three drinks tops and get to bed before 2. In the midst of his Zayn-centered sexuality crisis, his life had been more dramatic than he cared to admit, and he was looking forward to a more chill night with the lads. He’d just have to try and ignore Zayn being all beautiful and confusing. 

Liam was snapped out of his thoughts by a hand pressing lightly on his back. Liam inhaled the familiar scent of spicy cologne and incense and marijuana. It was Zayn, because of course it fucking was.

Jesus, he couldn’t possibly realize how one thoughtless touch made arousal curl warmly in the bottom of Liam’s belly. “Can we talk about how badly Harry wanted to impress us a couple minutes ago?” Zayn asked in a hushed voice, leaning close to speak in Liam’s ear. Liam laughed a little shakily and met Zayn’s gaze. “Don’t say that, Zee. He was just being friendly.” 

“Yeah, and trying to get in Lou’s good graces even more,” Zayn murmured. “It’s good, though. That he cares what we think. Means that he gives a shit, y’know?” 

Liam nodded thoughtfully. “Guess that’s true,” he said, a grin slowly stretching across his face. “And it was pretty hilarious when he asked about your fucking robot,” he admitted. Zayn laughed and leaned into Liam’s shoulder a little more. His eyes seemed to glimmer with his amusement. “I keep telling Lou that I’m not actually _building_ the bloody robot,” he replied, shaking his head. 

They chuckled and then fell silent for a moment. Then Zayn looked up at Liam through his long lashes, amber eyes narrowed and lips slightly parted. The playfulness of their banter faded into thin air as Liam felt his heartbeat quicken. 

Because he’d seen this look before, had joined Louis in making fun of Zayn when he gave this look to people he wanted to beguile. It was The Motherfucking Smolder. Zayn was doing The Smolder, and he was doing it with all his attention focused on Liam. 

“Wanna take another shot?” Zayn asked, his voice little more than a throaty whisper. Liam couldn’t hear his own thoughts over the sound of blood rushing to his head. But after a few painfullylong seconds of gawking, Liam vaguely realized that Zayn would be expecting a reply. 

He nodded dumbly and was rewarded by a smirk and an actual fucking wink and a firm hand on the small of his back leading him towards the bar for his second shot of the night.

  

It didn’t take long for the group to break off into different corners of the dimly-lit room. Niall could see Liam and Zayn leaning against the bar and making eyes at each other as they took another round of shots. 

He and Harry had returned to their booth with pints clutched in their hands. They had left Nick and Louis milling around in the corner, deep in conversation. 

To Louis’ great surprise and delight, they had just discovered a mutual passion for the Doncaster Rovers. Nick had apparently gone to football camp in Doncaster as a kid and the Rovers had been his team ever since.

Of course, this had prompted an intense discussion of the past season and the best players and recruiting for next season. Niall had quickly grown bored of this and prodded Harry in the side, gesturing back to the booth with pleading eyes.

“So,” Harry said as they dropped into their seats. “So,” Niall answered. “Turns out you didn’t need me here after all, huh?” he asked. Harry’s eyes widened. “What do you mean?” 

Niall scoffed and looked over to where Louis and Nick were both doubled over in laughter. “No need for me to run interference between Nick and Lou, was there?” 

Harry chewed on his bottom lip and followed Niall’s gaze across the room. “It’s going really well, isn’t it?” he asked eagerly. When he looked up at Niall and saw the look he was giving him, Harry grinned shiftily. 

“I just wanted to make sure they got on okay,” he said a little apologetically. Niall made a noncommittal noise and Harry slung an arm around his shoulder. “C’mon, Ni! You know I love you!” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Niall muttered, but he leaned into Harry’s embrace nonetheless. Nick and Louis joined them a few minutes later with fresh drinks. 

Louis practically skipped across the room and slid into the booth beside Harry grinning ecstatically and nuzzling his shoulder affectionately. “Hullo,” Harry smiled fondly. “Liam and Zayn! Look! Harry, look at Liam and Zayn!” Louis hissed in a carrying whisper that was probably much louder than he meant it to be. 

Harry craned his neck and looked for the two boys. He spotted them looking very cozy by the bar, clearly wrapped up in each other and completely oblivious to their surroundings.

Harry shifted his gaze to Louis, whose eyes were flicking between his mates and Harry and glimmering excitedly. “Is it just me or are the star-crossed lovers about three seconds away from ripping each other’s clothes off?” Harry murmured in Louis’ ear. Louis cackled gleefully. “Right? Haz, this is amazing! Shit is about to go down!”

Harry raised an eyebrow."You’re pretty heavily invested in your friend’s love lives,” he remarked drily. Louis just rolled his eyes at that. “You would be too if you’d been listening to them pine after each other for the last three months,” he pointed out. 

“Plus, I really do think they could be great together,” he added almost shyly, shooting Harry a bright but private little smile. 

Then he turned his attention back to the other lads at the booth, and enthusiastically chimed into Nick and Niall’s bizarre argument about the merits of some British boyband. 

“Their music’s actually pretty good,” Niall said unabashedly as Nick laughed into his beer. “They’re pretty boys with bad haircuts,” Louis declared decisively, making the other two chuckle.

* * *

Okay, so maybe this wasn’t going to be a low-key kind of night. Maybe this was going to be the night that Liam’s fucking dreams came true. He and Zayn had almost immediately lost track of the rest of the lads, hanging back by the bar and flirting shamelessly.

Which, granted, had happened a few times before when they’d been drinking. But this time felt different. Before, their interactions had felt fueled by the alcohol, purely physical and strangely at odds with their friendship. It was like they got drunk and suddenly forgot that they had been mates for three years.

Tonight, their conversation was flirty and physical, but Liam also felt like he was talking to his friend. They made fun of Louis and recounted some of their better adventures and got into a serious discussion about things they wanted to do before they graduated.

“I’ve always wanted to sneak onto the City Walls after dark,” Liam confessed. The City Walls were a major landmark that spanned much of York’s old town and offered some of the best views of the city. During the day, you could access the wall’s elevated walking path through one of four gatehouses, but they all closed at sunset.

“Ed told me that it’s easy to climb the fence at the gatehouse near the Minster, and I’ve always thought it would be sick to do it at night,” he added. 

Zayn’s eyes lit up and he studied Liam for a moment. “Let’s do it,” he said. Liam stared at him. “Come again?”

“Let’s do it,” Zayn repeated. “Now. We’re not far from the Minster. So let’s go.” Liam burst out laughing. “Zayn! We can’t leave! We’ve only been here like half an hour! It’d be rude!” 

Zayn waved his hand carelessly. “We’ve been here more than 30 minutes. Plus, Lou only invited us in case things got awkward between him and Nick and he needed someone to bitch to.” 

Liam had to admit that Zayn had a point there. He was out of excuses and he was drunk and he didn’t want to ruin whatever was happening between Zayn and him. So Liam beamed and nodded. “Okay, I’m down. Just gotta use the loo first,” he said.

 

“Budge up,” Liam said, prodding Zayn gently on the shoulder. Zayn realized just how much he was leaning into Liam, almost bracketing him against the bar. 

“Oh, yeah, okay. I’ll see you in a minute then,” Zayn murmured, pivoting to the side to let Liam pass him and grinning as Liam’s body brushed against his longer than strictly necessary.Even after Liam was out of sight, Zayn couldn’t wipe the idiotic grin off his face. 

Because this was it. This was his chance to show Liam how he felt and—if the last hour or so had been any indication—Zayn had a feeling that it was going to go well. Unless Zayn was totally mental, Liam was interested in the same thing he was. 

Zayn thought back to the last few months: to all of the weird, drunk flirting and tense periods of avoiding interspersed with great moments where it felt like he had his best mate back. 

Maybe that awkwardness hadn’t all been coming from his end. Maybe, just maybe Liam had been feeling some of the same things he had. He was about to find out one way or another and the anticipation was killing him. 

 

Less than a minute had passed when Zayn felt his phone vibrating persistently in his back pocket. He pulled it out and saw that he’d missed two calls and a text from his younger sister. “Call me when you get this Z.” 

He cursed when he saw that the timestamp from the text was from more than 20 minutes ago. He pressed the phone to his ear and then realized that he couldn’t hear anything with all of the pub noise in the background. 

He cursed again and crossed the length of the bar in several quick strides, trying not to imagine all of the terrible scenarios in which his 18 year old sister would be calling him in the middle of the night. “Saf, what’s going on? Is everyone okay?” he asked urgently as soon as the door shut behind him.

 

Liam tried and failed to wipe the dopy smile off of his face on the short walk from the loo back to the bar. But as he approached the spot where Zayn had been standing less than two minutes before, he felt his grin give way to a small frown.  Where the fuck had Zayn gone? 

He scanned the rest of the bar for a familiar head of spiky, raven black hair. He spotted Niall leaning against a wall with his nose buried in his phone; Louis and Harry were messing around with the old school jukebox in one corner; Nick was still at the booth finishing his drink and looking around the room. Their eyes met and Nick gave him a small smile and half-wave. 

Liam attempted a smile despite the fact that he could feel his stomach plummeting like a rock sinking to the bottom of a lake. Surely Zayn hadn’t run away _again,_ not after everything was going so well. 

Liam slumped over to the booth and absently reflected on how radically one’s mental state can change in the span of 30 seconds. “You haven’t seen Zayn, have you?” Liam asked Nick, hating the desperate, plaintive note in his voice. Nick nodded. “Just saw him leaving,” he replied. “Looked like he was in a hurry. Is everything okay?” he asked. 

His words hit Liam like a slap in the face. He was in a hurry. In a hurry to get away from Liam and from everything that had happened that night. 

He heard himself tell Nick that everything was fine in a hollow voice that sounded nothing like his own. Nick raised an eyebrow and looked at him skeptically. “You sure about that?” he asked, leaning over to touch Liam’s shoulder reassuringly. 

Liam looked up from his hands, which he had been wringing tightly. “Well, maybe things aren’t the best,” he admitted quietly. “Anything you’d like to share with the class?” Nick asked, leaning forward and setting his chin on his hand. 

Liam should have said no; he should have just laughed it off and changed the subject, because this poor bloke probably didn’t want to hear about all his bullshit with Zayn. Regardless, he was tired and upset and so fucking confused and he needed to talk to _someone,_ so he found himself nodding and trying to decide where to start. 

  

Niall kicked himself off of the wall he’d been leaning against and slipped his phone back into his pocket with a wide grin. He’d been texting Perrie, trying to convince her to crash lad’s night and spend the night at his place. 

She had flatly refused, insisting that it was wine night with her girlfriends. She’d been adamant that wine night was “fucking sacred,” and Niall had known better than to argue. She had instructed him to take the piss out of Louis as much as humanly possible. “Lou’s drunk tantrums are fucking legendary” had been her last text. 

Niall chuckled and absently reflected on how fucking outstanding Perrie was. He downed the remains of his second pint and immediately decided that another was in order. 

From his vantage point at the bar, Niall spotted Harry and Louis in a corner. Louis was leaning against the wall and Harry was speaking in his ear. Niall rolled his eyes and shook his head. What was the point of coming out with his mates if they were going to ignore everyone the entire night? 

He took his drink from the bartender, then slid off of his barstool and made his way across the crowded room, intending to tell Harry to stop being rude and join the rest of the party. Right as Niall had extended his hand to clap Harry on the shoulder, he made out a bit of what he was saying. 

“M’so fucking into you, Lou. Want you to fuck me tonight.” Louis looked gobsmacked, apparently so distracted by this announcement that he didn’t even notice Niall standing right over Harry’s shoulder.

His eyes went as wide as dinner plates as he rasped, “But we’ve never done that before. Fuck, Hazza,” Then he grabbed Harry’s face with both hands, pulling him in for an enthusiastic kiss that was honestly unfit for public eyes.

Niall’s eyes widened and he lowered his arm, quickly backing away from the pair as he choked back a belly laugh. “Right, so I’m just gonna give them their privacy and try to forget that that ever happened,” he said to himself as he headed for the booth where he had seen Nick and Liam a minute ago.

 

“Well. I’ve just learned more than I ever wanted to know about Harry’s sex life,” Niall announced as he sank into a booth opposite Liam and Nick, who—Niall noticed a moment too late—looked to be having a serious conversation. Which Niall found quite strange considering that they didn’t really know each other. 

At the interruption, both men looked up with matching slightly guilty expressions on their faces, which was also strange. Niall pondered this for a moment, then shrugged internally. It was none of his business after all. 

“Where’s Zayn?” he asked Liam after a moment of awkward silence. For some reason, Liam’s expression hardened. “He left,” he replied flatly. “Big surprise.” 

Niall had the sinking suspicion that there was drama brewing, and he wanted absolutely no part of it. “Right. Well,” Niall said after a brief and uncomfortable silence. “Think I might go as well. It’s late and all.”

The other men nodded vaguely, still looking rather distracted. Niall wished them both good night and stood up, looking around the room.

Harry and Louis were still in their secluded corner and Niall decided not to interrupt them in order to say goodbye, because God only knows what he’d overhear this time.

* * *

After Niall had slid out of the booth, Liam returned his attention to Nick, who had been surprisingly great about listening to all of Liam’s stupid problems. 

“Sorry for unloading on you like that. I’m sure you don’t want to hear about—,” he started, but Nick cut him off, placing a hand on his knee.

“Liam, it’s fine, seriously,” he said. “I, uh—I know what it’s like to feel invisible to the person you have feelings for,” Nick muttered, his gaze flickering over Liam’s shoulder to where Harry and Louis were laughing, leaned against each other contentedly. He frowned as he continued. 

“And it’s like—there’s nothing you can do but wait to get over yourself to just get over it because you know you’re being fucking stupid.” 

Liam quickly realized that this had stopped being about him and Zayn. Nick was talking more to himself than he was to Liam at this point. Then after a moment staring off into space, he turned his focus back to Liam. 

“But for the record. Zayn’s an idiot because you’re a great guy,” he said, smiling warmly at Liam, and stroking his thumb over Liam’s knee. “And like—mad fit, obviously,” he added bashfully. 

 

Looking back on it, Liam would never be completely sure why he did what he did next. It could have been the alcohol or the the confusing shit-storm of emotions he was dealing with. 

It also might have been way that Nick was looking at him, earnest and thoughtful and warm; or perhaps it was the the simple fact that Nick was there and he was fit and he wasn’t Zayn fucking Malik. 

But whatever the reason, Liam’s first reaction to Nick’s statement was to surge forward and kiss him. He felt Nick go rigid and take a small but unmistakable shocked inhalation of breath. 

Liam pulled away. “Shit, sorry I dunno what I was thinking,” he mumbled, scrubbing a hand through his hair and wanting more than anything to sink through the floor because two rejections in one night must be some kind of record. 

For a moment, Nick looked stunned. Then he shook his head and Liam thought he heard him murmur, “Fuck it,” before he leaned forward and rejoined their lips, this time for a real kiss. 

It was messy, the way that it’s always messy when you’re drunk and kissing someone for the first time. But it also felt good and warm and comforting to have another body so close, to have another pair of lips on his. 

Liam managed to forget that they were in a crowded bar with their best mates and, after a few moments, he deepened the kiss. 

He felt Nick’s hand snake behind his neck and scratch gently through his short hair, tugging in a way that went straight to Liam’s dick.

 

When they pulled back this time, both men were out of breath. “Would you—uh, wanna get out of here? Get some privacy?” Nick asked shakily, looking around furtively. 

Which reminded Liam that, oh right, they were in public. Liam bit his already-swollen bottom lip and contemplated Nick’s question for a moment. His body was itching for more contact, but it didn’t feel quite right. Liam couldn’t figure out why, but it almost felt like a betrayal. 

When this word formed in his head, Liam pushed it away bitterly. He wasn’t betraying _anyone,_ least of all Zayn _._ He didn’t owe Zayn anything, especially when Zayn had fucked off without any explanation. 

So he looked back up at Nick and nodded firmly. Then, without another word, they were on their feet, a frantic tangle of limbs trying to track down their coats and wallets and phones before slipping out of the bar and fervently hoping that their friends didn’t see them.

Not that they need have worried about that; Harry and Louis were otherwise engaged in a dark corner of the bar.

Then they were out on the street, cold breeze assaulting both of their faces as they struggled into their jackets. “That’s not a sleeve, it’s your hood,” Nick laughed, stopping to tug on Liam’s sleeve and help him into his jacket. 

They both stumbled a little into the brick wall of the pub. “I knew that,” Liam joked, leaning forward to connect their lips again. 

“Right,” Nick murmured. “My place isn’t far, like two blocks or summat.” Liam smirked and tugged on Nick’s belt loops. “Lead the way,” he grinned, pushing off the wall.

 

Neither of them noticed the lanky, dark-haired figure ten feet behind them, phone pressed to his ear but mouth slackened in shock as he stared after them.


	14. 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was kind of surprisingly delightful to write and i'm really happy with the way it turned out. hope everyone enjoys! let me know if you liked it in the comments! :)
> 
> fyi the next update may or may not take a bit longer because i'm kind of re-thinking the way i want to end this thing.

A long time ago, before he and Lou had even started hooking up, Harry remembered having this really vivid dream.

He and Louis been lying in bed together. They hadn’t been doing anything physical (which was strange because, at that point, Harry had spent most of his waking hours resisting the urge to rip Louis’ clothes off his body and ravage him).

Instead, he’d dreamt that they had curled up there and read the Sunday paper. The morning sun had been streaming through the window washing everything in an Instagram-worthy glow and Lou had been tucked into one of Harry’s flannels and neither of them said anything but the silence was peaceful and comfortable and wonderful.

But what Harry remembered most about that dream was Lou’s smile: lazy and sleepy and slow and perfect. It was perhaps Harry’s favorite dream ever.

 

That’s why the morning after lad’s night was one of his favorite mornings ever. He was jostled out of his slumber by rustling noises coming from right beside his left ear.

He cracked an eye open to find Lou curled up against the headboard with a newspaper open on his bare chest. He reached over to the bedside table and picked up a steaming mug of tea, which he gingerly raised to his lips.

Even though Harry was still half asleep, his heart started hammering when he saw his own reading glasses perched on the edge of Louis’ nose. “G’morning,” Harry croaked, budging up to nudge Lou’s shoulder with his nose.

Louis smiled down at him and it was literal fucking sunshine; like Harry was pretty sure that there were real, actual rays of light streaming from that smile and God, he loved this boy.

“You’re up! You slept right through me stubbing my toe and almost spilling tea everywhere,” Louis announced, reaching a hand down to absently pet Harry’s hair.

“Pity,” Harry yawned. “What time is it?” he asked groggily. “Still early,” Louis said quietly. “Just after 8.” Harry wrinkled his nose. “Fuck’s sake, why are we awake?” he asked.

Lou rolled his eyes. “Don’t be a brat. Look, it’s snowing!” he said excitedly, pointing to the window where fat snowflakes were indeed melting onto the window. 

“Here, want some of the newspaper?” Louis asked. Harry took the news and business sections while Louis claimed sports and comics and they just laid there and read for a long, lazy stretch of the morning. 

Louis would occasionally run his fingers through Harry’s hair, gently scratching the back of his head because he knew that Harry loved it and Harry laced one of his legs through one of Louis’ and traced up his calf with his toes every once in a while, as if to assure himself that Lou was real and solid and _here_. 

 

Lou slipped out of the flat around 9:30, suggesting that they grab dinner that night. “Only if I can cook,” Harry replied. Louis pretended to think about it for a few seconds. “I guess I could live with that,” he finally said. 

Then Lou was gone and Harry spent the next hour and a half trying to get work done but accomplishing almost nothing. 

Because his mind was in a mild state of chaos. Last night had been great and this morning had been better and it had all felt like he and Lou were together, really together.

As pathetically, deliriously happy as he was about all of it, he was also really confused. Louis still hadn’t said anything to him about wanting more than the friends with benefits thing and it was slowly but surely driving Harry mad.

It was getting to the point where he could hardly stand the high of Louis being there and the low of second guessing their entire relationship every time Louis put more distance between them.

All of those thoughts swimming through his mind were not exactly helpful when it came to concentrating on a 400-page book about mercantilism in the 18th century. Finally he gave up on any semblance of productivity and texted Nick to see if he was up for a run in the park.

* * *

By the time he had chugged a glass of water, changed into running gear, and met Nick at their usual spot near the entrance to the park, it was early afternoon and a light flurry snow was falling, but Harry was still buzzing.

He jogged up to find Nick already waiting for him under a large pine tree that someone had decorated with lights and tinsel for Christmas.

“Ready to get left in the dust, Grimmy?” he asked, giving his friend a playful shoulder nudge. Nick turned to face him and Harry immediately noticed the pale tinge to his skin and dark circles under his eyes. “Don’t go too hard on me, Hazza,” he said with a weak smile. “Not feeling at the top of my game, to be honest with you.”

“Hungover?” Harry asked sympathetically. Nick averted his eyes and his face twisted into a strange smirk-frown hybrid. 

“Among other things,” he murmured, then took off at a jog. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Harry asked, tearing off after him. Nick didn’t say anything for so long that Harry assumed he wasn’t going to answer. But after they’d run half a mile or so, Nick turned to him and, in a would-be casual tone, he said, “So—I hooked up with someone last night.”

 

Harry raised his eyebrows. “What? Did you go to another bar after you left?” Nick shook his head. “Nope,” he replied, popping the p.

Harry laughed. “Well then who did you hook up with? Niall?” he teased. “No, it wasn’t Niall,” Nick said slowly, then he didn’t say anything for a long moment. “It was Louis’ friend. Liam.” 

Harry stopped jogging and gaped at Nick’s retreating silhouette for a few seconds. “Are you shitting me?” he called after him, running to catch up.

“No, not shitting you,” he said after Harry was back at his side. “I—uh, we got to talking and—I dunno, it was quite random actually. But he ended up coming back to my place from the bar and—yeah,” he finished lamely.

“Wh-what about Zayn?” Harry heard himself asking as they ducked under a branch on the path. “I kind of thought that they had something going on.” 

Nick shrugged. “They’re not, like, dating,” he said a touch defensively. “Not like we did anything wrong, is there?” Harry didn’t answer. 

 

His brain was currently stuck on an endless loop of ‘Shiiiit.’ Because Lou was going to be _pissed._ Harry knew Louis well enough to know how loyal he was, and how invested he was in his friend’s lives. He’d been so pleased last night when it looked like Liam and Zayn were finally figuring out their shit. 

Harry could tell that Lou had really been rooting for them. Hell, Harry had been rooting for them and even though he didn’t blame Nick, he was a bit disappointed that the star-crossed lovers might not have been so star-crossed after all.

After several minutes of jogging in slightly awkward silence, Harry spoke. “Do you think that Liam’ll tell Louis?” 

Nick gave him an annoyed look. “Why does everything always have to be about Louis?” he asked. Harry frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked as he shook several snowflakes out of his hair.

Nick stopped running and turned to face Harry. “It means that Louis doesn’t have anything to do with this!” he blurted out angrily. 

Harry slowed to a stop and stared at him. He understood where Nick was coming from, but the hostility in his voice was both unexpected and a little hurtful. 

His surprise and hurt must have shown on his face, because Nick sighed deeply and said, “Listen, Haz—I’m sorry for getting upset. I dunno, it’s been a long week and I’ve been really stressed and I was just blowing off some steam last night. I don’t see why that has to be such a big deal.” 

Harry nodded slowly. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. That stuff’s your business. Sorry I asked,” he replied, and they both turned back to the path and continued jogging.

“I don’t think Liam’s going to tell anyone,” Nick said after a few moments. “I got the sense that he wanted to keep it on the DL.” 

Harry felt the knot in his stomach loosen a bit. If Liam wasn’t going to tell Louis, then maybe Louis didn’t have to find out after all. Nick had been right. It wasn’t really any of their business and it wasn’t his place to tell.

Harry knew deep down that Lou would find out and they would have to at least address the elephant in the room. Harry hoped when they did inevitably talk about it, he could figure out how to minimize the awkwardness in what was obviously an extremely awkward situation. 

 

A small, slightly shameful part of his brain was annoyed that he even had to worry about this at all. They had agreed to the friends with benefits arrangement so that things wouldn’t get too complicated. 

But jogging along the path in silence with a cold sense of foreboding filling his whole body felt really fucking complicated. He hadn’t even talked to Louis yet and he already felt pulled in both directions.

It wasn’t fair that Harry had to be in the middle of this weird situation between his friend and Lou’s friend; it wasn’t fair that he had to worry about Lou finding out and getting angry. It wasn’t fair that Harry had to deal with all of that when he and Lou weren’t even in a relationship. 

Harry knew that he didn’t want to lose Lou, but he also knew that he couldn’t continue this way, not knowing how Louis actually felt. 

“I’m going to talk to him. Tonight,” Harry resolved to himself as he shopped for dinner ingredients. “Ask him point blank what he wants.”

By the time that Harry let himself back into his flat an hour later with grocery bags tucked under both his arms, much of his elation from that morning had worn off, replaced by a bone-deep sense of weariness that he told himself had to do with the fact that he hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before.

* * *

Louis walked into his flat with an extra pep in his step. This morning with Harry had been cozy and perfect and it was snowing and he was eager to take the piss out of his mates for taking so long to jump each other’s bones.

He was so relieved that things would be out in the open, that everything would finally go back to normal. But as soon as he stepped into the hallway, he knew that something was wrong.

He was greeted by the strong smell of marijuana and the sound of Bon Iver coming from Zayn’s room. Zayn getting stoned and listening to depressing music was not a good omen.

Hackles raised, Louis cautiously proceeded down the hallway, stopping in front of Zayn’s door and knocking gently. “Zee? You up?” he called through the closed door. 

He heard some scuffling and after a few moments, a muffled noise of assent. Louis pushed the door open and flinched at the sight that greeted him.

 

Zayn was stretched flat on his back, still fully dressed in last night’s clothes staring up at the ceiling with a joint between his fingers. 

He turned his head in Louis’ direction and made eye contact for a brief moment, but gave Louis’ presence no further acknowledgement. Buggering shit, this could not possibly mean anything good. 

“Hi, Zee,” he said gently. Zayn grunted and turned his head back toward the ceiling. “Everything—uh, okay?” Louis asked.

“Yeah, mate. Just fucking peachy,” Zayn muttered bitterly. Louis took another step toward the bed. “What’s happened?” he pressed. Zayn turned his entire body so that he was facing the wall, angled away from Louis.

He didn’t answer Louis’ question and after a minute or so, Louis felt quite awkward just standing there.

“Right. I’m going to make us a cuppa. Then you can tell me what’s wrong,” he said firmly. He turned on his heel into the kitchen and bustled around preparing their tea, his mind racing. 

Zayn looked absolutely miserable. Louis had never seen him look quite so upset and it scared the hell out of him. 

Less than five minutes later, he was perched on the corner of Zayn’s bed with their over-filled mugs balanced precariously in both hands. “Zee, take your tea,” he said, holding out Zayn’s “What Would Nietzsche Do?” mug. 

Zayn made no move to accept the drink. Louis sighed. “Take the tea, Zayn. I even made the disgusting peppermint kind you like, c’mon.” 

At that, Zayn huffed indignantly and muttered, “S’not disgusting,” as he accepted the mug. To Louis’ relief, he sat up with his back against the wall and took a long sip. 

They sat in silence for a few minutes, drinking their tea and staring into space. At last, Zayn set down his mug and sighed deeply. 

“Right. So. The, uh,”—he flinched before saying the next word, like it hurt him coming out of his mouth—“Liam thing is over. Not that it was ever actually a thing,” he added, casting his eyes downward. 

“But yeah, he hooked up with someone else last night, so I’d definitely say that he’s not interested in it ever being a thing.”

Louis was dying to ask about a million follow-up questions, but he forced himself to keep quiet and wait for his friend to continue. He knew that Zayn wasn’t done and that he needed to tell the story in his own time.

After another minute or so, his patience was rewarded. “Last night started off really good, like I don’t know if you saw, but—well, it really seemed like he was into me, Lou,” he said, looking down and frowning into his tea.

Louis nodded because yeah, he had seen them and yeah, it had certainly seemed like that to him. 

“And we were actually going to leave together, like try to sneak on the City Walls because Li said he’d always wanted to go at night. So he left to go the loo and while he was gone Safaa called me and I kind of panicked because it was late and she kind of made it sound like something serious. So I ducked out to talk to her.”

Zayn paused to take a breath and Louis interjected. “Is Saf okay? And the others?” Zayn nodded. “They’re all fine. She had gone out and had too much to drink and then gotten into a fight with her best friend. Think she just needed to hear a familiar voice.” 

Louis heaved a sigh of relief. He had practically grown up at the Malik’s and they were almost like a second family to him. 

“But yeah, I went outside to talk to her for a bit and I must have been out there 15 minutes or so when Liam came out with another bloke. Harry’s mate. Nick,” Zayn said, his jaw clenching. 

Louis gaped at him and forced himself not to burst out laughing. Because there was no fucking way that _Liam_ had hooked up with _Nick._ That would just be too bizarre. “Zee, you must have misunderstood. Like, maybe they just went out to have a smoke or something.”

Zayn shook his head vehemently. “I didn’t misunderstand jack shit, Louis,” he said, starting to sound angry. “I fucking saw them snogging against the wall of the pub and then leaving together. What’s there to misunderstand about that?”

 

A stunned silence followed Zayn’s words as Louis tried to process what he’d just heard. Liam was mad for Zayn and things had been going so well last night. On top of that, Liam had hardly even spoken to Nick and they had just hooked up out of the blue? 

This just made absolutely no sense. “I—I can’t believe that,” Louis said at last. Zayn laughed humorlessly. “Yeah, well. Believe it.” 

Louis reached over to rub between Zayn’s shoulder-blades. “I’m so sorry, Zee. I really thought that it was going to work out,” he said honestly. 

Zayn dropped his head into his hands and rubbed his face. “I just—I know it’s stupid but I really thought it was going to work out too. And it turns out that I was so wrong. Like, he wasn’t into me at all.” 

Louis started to object to that, to say that that just wasn’t true (because fuck confidentiality at this point), but his friend cut him off. 

“Come on, Lou. I hadn’t even been gone 10 minutes before he started snogging someone else,” Zayn said. “And the worst part is that I’m not even mad at him! Like, it’s not his fault that he doesn’t fancy me.”

Louis didn’t reply. Because even though Zayn might not be mad at Liam, Louis sure as hell was. What had he been playing at, hooking up with Nick Grimshaw of all people, when he’d spent the last three months talking about how much he liked Zayn? 

Anyone who put this terrible, defeated expression on his best friend’s face was automatically on Louis’ shit list. Even if that person was Louis’ other best friend.

 

“Anyways,” Zayn said, jolting Louis out of his internal rant. “I need to pull my shit together. I’ve got a shift at Costa this afternoon and a huge problem set and a philosophy paper due next week,” he muttered, pulling himself out of bed and stretching his arms over his head, wincing as his shoulders popped. 

“Thanks for the tea and sympathy, Lou. Sorry that I’m such a mess.”

Louis nudged Zayn with his foot so that he turned around to face him. “Hey. None of that now, okay?” he said sternly. “You’re not a mess. You’re Zayn fucking Malik. We’ll figure this out, I promise,” he finished more gently.

Zayn’s face—which had been frozen into a stoic frown since he’d finished with his story—flickered and almost crumpled. For one terrifying moment, Louis thought that he was going to completely collapse.

But then he’d regained his composure and turned to rifle through one of his dresser drawers. “I’m gonna shower and then head to Costa to get some work done before my shift. Wanna come with?” 

Louis nodded and stood up. “Could I meet you there? I was gonna go on a quick run.”

“In the snow? You’re fucking crazy, mate,” Zayn frowned as he held the door open for both of them. “Yeah, yeah,” Louis murmured as he watched Zayn disappear into the bathroom. He waited until he heard the shower running before he made a beeline for Liam’s bedroom. 

He rapped sharply on the door and pressed his ear against it. There were no signs of movement from behind it.

“Liam?” he said quietly but clearly. Nothing. He pulled out his phone and sent a hasty text. “Li. We need to talk,” then pocketed his phone and retreated into his own room to change clothes.

* * *

Louis was almost three miles into his run and he was still fuming. By this point, he’d shifted the focus of his anger from Liam to Nick.

He fully intended to sit Liam down and figure out what the hell was going on with him when he wasn’t MIA, but for now, it was much more satisfying to let Nick bear the brunt of the blame for this whole disaster.

Ever since Nick had arrived in York, it seemed like he was dead set on making Louis’ life as difficult as possible. Then, after Louis had finally decided to give Nick the benefit of the doubt, he’d turned around and gotten in the middle of this complicated situation between his two best mates.

Did he get off on sabotaging other people’s relationships? “What a fucking prick,” Louis thought to himself savagely.

And yeah. Part of Louis knew that some of his righteous indignation was unjustified. The rational side of his brain was aware that Nick obviously hadn’t intended to sabotage anything and that he was being unreasonable. 

But every time he had one of those thoughts, Zayn’s face flashed through his mind, crushed and tired and so fucking sad.

After standing in the piping hot shower to get rid of the deep chill that had settled in his bones, Louis forced himself to calm down for Zayn’s sake.

He was still upset, but he knew that Zayn didn’t need his negativity on top of the disappointment he was already feeling. So he hitched a cheerful smile on his face as he pushed through the doors of the coffee shop and settled at his usual table near the register.

 

The afternoon was relatively uneventful and surprisingly productive given how thoroughly distracting his morning had been. He managed to finish most of his work before he got a text from Harry at about 4 asking what time he wanted to eat that night. 

The tightly-coiled knot of frustration and concern that had been sitting in the bottom of his stomach for most of the day loosened a bit as he typed out a response. 

In the midst of all this drama, the only thing that Louis wanted to do was cuddle up on Harry’s couch and talk about nothing and eat dinner and watch _Sherlock_. 

During his run, Louis had decided that he wasn’t going to say anything to Harry about the Nick and Liam situation. Nick might be the world’s biggest dickhead, but he was also Harry’s mate and Louis didn’t want to drag Harry into this mess, especially not when things had been going so well between them. 

 

He went straight from Costa to Harry’s flat and hummed gratefully at the delicious aroma wafting from outside the front door. When Harry greeted him, Louis noticed the tense set of his shoulders and tightness at the corners of his mouth.

“Everything okay, Hazza?” he asked as he followed him into the kitchen, shutting the door behind him. “Oh—uh, yeah. Fine,” Harry replied, glancing down with a little frown.

Louis felt his own lips twitching downward. “Are you sure? You seem stressed or something.” Harry looked like he was debating whether or not to say something, but after a moment he just rubbed his temples and sighed. 

“School stuff, y’know. There’s a lot going on with the winter hols coming up.” Louis nodded sympathetically and moved forward so that he was pressed against Harry’s back, chin hooked over Harry’s shoulder. 

“M’sorry,” he whispered, pressing his lips to a spot behind Harry’s ear and grinning when he felt Harry shiver. “I know you can do it, Haz,” he said reassuringly, squeezing Harry’s hipbone with one hand.

Harry twisted around so that they were face-to-face. “You’re great, Louis Tomlinson,” he murmured, and Louis was relieved to see that his whole body had relaxed a little.

He didn’t even think about the fact that, a month ago, he would have been freaked out by this kind of openness and intimacy. Because when he was alone with Harry, he found himself forgetting why his stupid rules mattered so much, found himself wanting to chuck the whole bloody rule book in the trash.

Fifteen minutes later, the rest of Harry’s bad mood seemed to have dissolved as he turned to the stove and continued to stir something that was simmering away, smelling amazing.

He refused to tell Louis what he was making or let him help at all, but he did put on Michael Buble’s Christmas album and sing along in a campy voice while Louis sat on the counter and guessed what they were eating while applauding Harry’s serenades.

 

Harry had just finished a rather racy rendition of “Baby It’s Cold Outside” when his phone vibrated loudly against the surface of the counter. “Who’s that?” Harry asked absent-mindedly as he turned back to the stove and transferred a large skillet to the counter. 

Louis tensed up when he saw the name on the screen. It was Nick. Of course. He didn’t say anything at first, just pursed his lips and glared down at Harry’s phone. Then he cleared his throat and, in what he hoped was a nonchalant tone, he replied, “It’s Nick.”

 

Harry turned his head enough to look Louis in the eye and he sighed as soon as their eyes met. “You know, don’t you?” he asked resignedly. So much for nonchalance. Louis gave a curt nod, bitterly pondering how long it had taken Nick to run to Harry and brag about his conquest. 

There was a very awkward silence. “It’s uh—too bad about Liam and Zayn,” Harry said at last, reaching for two plates and scooping some type of rice-vegetable medley from the skillet onto each. “Yeah. Too bad,” Louis said flatly. 

He really didn’t want to get into this with Harry, because he knew that he would just get angry and say something about Nick that he’d regret. “It really seemed like they were hitting it off last night, y’know?” Harry rambled on, looking distinctly uncomfortable. 

God, Louis really wished that he would drop it because he was about one second away from making a smart-ass comment. “I wonder what happened,” Harry said with a nervous chuckle. 

Louis raised an eyebrow in disbelief, bordering on disdain. Did Harry actually expect Louis to laugh along with him when his best mate was fucking torn up over this whole thing?

“Nick Grimshaw happened,” Louis said acidly. Harry looked up from where he’d been transferring chicken from the pan to their plates. “I don’t think that’s fair,” he said evenly. 

Harry’s almost sanctimonious sense of calm touched a nerve in Louis and the next thing he knew, he heard himself saying, “Really? Because everything was going great until Nick got in the middle of it,” in a slightly petulant tone of voice. 

Harry crossed both arms over his chest. “Nick didn’t do anything wrong,” he said. “They were both consenting adults, weren’t they?” He was still speaking calmly, but his green eyes were flashing dangerously.

Louis glared at him. “I don’t want to fucking talk about Nick anymore!” he exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air. 

“Why’d you bring him up then?” Harry demanded. Because you wouldn’t fucking drop the whole Liam and Zayn thing!” Louis huffed. 

“I was just trying to like, not make things awkward,” Harry said as if this should have been obvious. 

“Well, it is awkward for me, Harry. It’s awkward and shitty that my best mate is miserable because I invited him out with a group of people he didn’t know. And then one of those people turned around and fucked the bloke he fancies. That’s fucking awkward, Haz. Sorry if that’s inconvenient for you.”

 

Harry carried their plates to the table and set them down, a bit more forcefully than strictly necessary. 

“Right. Well. Dinner’s ready,” he said tightly, turning back to the kitchen and returning a moment later with a bottle of wine. 

Louis sat down stiffly and stared down at his plate, thinking about how unfair Harry was being. He hadn’t wanted to talk about this in the first place, but Harry had kept bloody bringing it up, practically fucking baiting Louis into making a smart-ass remark and then acting all surprised and indignant when he did.

* * *

Dinner was excruciating. They ate in silence; the only noise in the flat was from the radiator clicking and the Christmas music still playing in the background. Louis had never felt less cheered by Mariah Carey’s “All I Want for Christmas Is You,” than he did in this moment.

Harry had made risotto with broccoli and chicken and it tasted absolutely incredible, which made things even worse, somehow.

Several times, he wondered if he shouldn’t just make some bullshit excuse and bolt, saving himself from one more second of this cold, tense silence. 

They were sitting close enough for Louis to reach out and touch Harry, but there was a sudden and intangible distance between them that sent a wriggling tendril of fear through Louis’ entire body. It was _never_ like this between them, and each moment of frosty awkwardness added to the jittery sense of panic that Louis was feeling. 

This was exactly why he hadn’t wanted to bring this whole stupid thing up, hadn’t wanted to risk getting into a row and blowing it with Harry.

 

When they had both finished eating, Harry collected their plates and swept wordlessly toward the kitchen to deposit them in the sink. Louis stayed at the table, taking a sip from his wine glass so that he had something to do with his hands besides awkwardly fiddling with them in his lap.

After a moment, Harry appeared in the doorway of the kitchen. He leaned against the frame and crossed his arms over his chest, looking at Louis so intensely that it made Louis feel a bit dizzy. 

This continued for a full 20 seconds before Louis finally cleared his throat and said, “So, uh—you said you had a big paper due this week, right? Are you feeling good about that?”

 

Harry stared at him for another long moment before uncrossing his arms and scrubbing both hands through his long hair. 

“You know what, no,” he said, his voice low and raspy. “I’m not doing this with you.” Louis stared at him in bewilderment. 

“Harry, I’m sorry that I said something about Nick. I—he’s your mate and I should have kept my mouth shut.”

“Thanks for saying that,” Harry said, still frowning. “But, like. It’s not just the Nick thing. It’s—we need to talk about this whole thing,”—he said, motioning frantically between himself and Louis. “It isn’t enough for me anymore.” 

Louis felt something breaking in his chest, something hard and heavy and fucking painful. Because this was it. Harry was done with him and he was going to walk away and leave Louis to pick up all the pieces. 

Before Louis could further process what Harry had just said, he took a deep breath and continued. “I—I’m sick of never knowing what you’re thinking and I’m sick of fucking around. I need to know what’s going on between us.” 

Louis’ eyes darted from Harry’s face to the floor to a point just above Harry’s right shoulder and then back to Harry’s face. He felt jittery and panicked and confused, like an animal backed into a corner, ooff-balance and out of control. 

When he spoke, his voice was a touch higher than usual. “I—Harry. I like you. A lot. You have to know that,” he said, hating the pathetic, almost-pleading tone of his voice. 

“Yeah, Louis, I do know that,” Harry sighed. “But I need to know where we stand.”

 

Where we stand. _We._ That sounded like maybe—just maybe—Harry wasn’t going to tell him to leave. But what did he want Louis to say? 

He still felt disoriented: like he was falling into thin air, hands reaching for anything he could find, grappling for purchase. “I—I know we agreed on the friend with benefits things,” he started and he saw Harry’s face fall, so he rushed to continue.

“But I feel like it’s kind of developed into more?” It came out as a question rather than a statement. 

“And—uh, do you want that? Do you want more?” Harry asked gruffly. 

Louis nodded vigorously, because the look in Harry’s eyes had emboldened him and if he was going to do this, he was going to do it right. 

“Yeah. I do want more,” he said as firmly as he could muster given the fact that he felt like he might throw up from nerves.

“I’m sorry it took me so long. I just…I didn’t know how you felt and I didn’t want to freak you out or anything,” he said, looking down at his feet sheepishly. “But.” This was it. He looked up and looked straight into Harry’s eyes. “I—I’m with you.” 

The silence was deafening. Louis could hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears as he waited for Harry’s response. 

 

“You fucking idiot,” Harry said, his face still set in a deep frown. 

Louis flinched and he felt like the bottom of his stomach had dropped out, because he was a fucking idiot and this had clearly been a terrible mistake. 

But before he could say anything in response, Harry’s face split into a grin so big it looked like it was hurting his cheeks. He crossed the room and pushed Louis against the kitchen doorframe. 

“You didn’t know how I felt?” he rasped, then he leaned forwardand mashed their lips together. 

“You.” He kissed Louis again. “Fucking.” And again. “Idiot.” Louis laughed weakly and knotted his hands up in the back of Harry’s shirt. 

Louis whined into Harry’s mouth when he pulled away. “Can we have like, really vigorous celebratory sex please?” Harry rasped. 

Louis laughed and wrinkled his nose. “Could you not use the word ‘vigorous’ when you’re talking dirty? It’s kind of a boner killer.” 

Harry stuck out his bottom lip in an exaggerated pout. “Oh, don’t be a brat. Of course we’re going to have celebration sex,” Louis smiled.

 

Harry’s eyes darkened as he backed Louis into the refrigerator, knocking off several magnets. “Y’know,” he murmured in Louis’ ear. “I’ve been thinking about last night. A lot.” Louis felt his insides curl with the heat of arousal. 

“You liked that, did you?” he asked, his voice going high and breathy. Harry grinned wickedly and nodded. “Loved you filling me up like that,” he whispered. “Loved being able to feel you in the morning.” 

Louis actually let out a low groan at that. “Haz,” he breathed, tracing the seam of Harry’s jumper with his fingers, ghosting his fingers against the skin underneath and making Harry’s breath hitch in his throat.

“The—fuck, the shower,” Harry panted. Louis looked up. “What about the shower?” he asked. “Want you to fuck me in the shower,” Harry murmured. Louis’ eyes widened. 

“I think that might be the one room in your flat we haven’t christened,” he remarked, snapping his hips forward and letting his head fall back against the refrigerator when their groins moved together. 

“We haven’t fucked in the hall closet either,” Harry pointed out, making Louis snort. “We’ll get to that another day, yeah?” he said as wryly as he could manage with Harry grinding filthily against him, hot breath against his neck. 

“Yeah,” Harry muttered. “Shower now.” Louis would never tire of how fucking eager Harry was, how open he was about what he wanted. 

“Yes, sir,” Louis teased, making his voice a purr. At those words, Harry closed his eyes and shivered so suddenly that it seemed involuntary. 

Louis quirked an eyebrow. _That_ was an interesting development. “Undress me then,” he rasped. 

“What’s the magic word?” Harry asked. His tone was light but his pupils were blown and he was fixing Louis with that familiar dark, hungry stare that went straight to Louis’ already half-hard dick.

“Please,” Louis moaned, rolling his hips again. “Please,” he repeated, adding a little whine onto the end of the word for emphasis. 

Slowly, teasingly, Harry reached for the bottom of Louis’ shirt and tugged it up over his head, tossing it aside before leaning back in to stroke his long fingers down the bare skin of Louis’ arms, starting at the tanned, muscles of his shoulders then down his biceps and forearms. 

Louis laughed breathlessly at the feather-light, tickling sensation. Then Harry’s hands were making short work of the button and zipper on his jeans and Louis wasn’t laughing anymore. 

 

Once he was naked, Louis let Harry pull him roughly across the living room and into the flat’s bathroom.

Harry immediately turned to the shower and started the spray. Then he turned back to Louis and crowded him against the sink, leaning in for a kiss that quickly turned sloppy and desperate. 

Louis felt a little dazed, drunk on the sensation of his bare skin brushing against the rough denim of Harry’s jeans and the soft fabric of his shirt. 

He almost lost it when Harry bent down to attach his lips to Louis’ neck, when he felt Harry’s teeth nipping against the soft, sensitive skin. He detached himself for long enough to murmur, “I want my mouth on every inch of you.” 

Then he grabbed Louis’ ass, lifted him onto the counter, and resumed his attack on Louis’ neck. By this point, Louis’ skin felt slightly sticky because the hot spray of the shower had steamed up the bathroom over the last couple of minutes; it made Harry’s breath feel even hotter on his neck.

Harry licked lower to the dip above Louis’ collarbone and sucked hard. He knew that it was going to bruise but he didn’t give a shit; matter of fact, the idea of Harry marking him up just made him more desperate for it. 

Louis soon began to paw frantically at Harry’s clothes because he needed more skin, more contact, more of Harry. 

Harry got the memo and shucked his shirt over his head, jeans and pants quickly following suit. Harry nudged him off the counter and walked them both toward the shower. 

Louis felt his skin prickle with goosebumps as the mist from the shower’s spray hit his skin.

 

“Can I massage you with your posh sponge thing?” Louis asked when they’d both stepped under the jet of warm water. “It’s called a loofah and it’s not posh,” Harry laughed, rolling his eyes and handing Louis the loofah. 

Louis squirted on a generous amount of Harry’s favorite lemon-scented body soap and rubbed it tentatively between Harry’s shoulder blades, grinning contentedly when Harry let out a breathy sigh. 

He traced over Harry’s collarbones, soaping up both of his swallow tattoos then moved down to the butterfly on his chest and down further to the firm planes of his abs. 

He wandered his hands to Harry’s hips, just barely running his fingertips up and down both sides of his body. 

Louis absently reflected that he could spend hours doing this, touching Harry’s skin and appreciating how soft and smooth and warm he was. Harry shuddered when Louis reached the downy trail of hair that led to his groin.

Louis dropped the loofah and wrapped a hand around Harry’s cock, surprised at how hard he already was. Harry immediately groaned and bucked his hips forward, fucking into Louis’ fist. 

Harry’s thighs were shaking and Louis was completely overcome by the desire to to trace them with his mouth and feel the sparse dusting of hair against his lips and suck bruises on the smooth, milky skin. 

“God, Harry,” he groaned. The hand that wasn’t on Harry’s cock was gripping the fern leaf on his hip like it was the only thing keeping him from plunging off a cliff. 

“You’re so gorgeous. So fucking perfect,” he murmured, his breath catching in his throat.

Harry looked down at Louis with hooded, desperate eyes. “Don’t think I can wait, Lou. Fuck, m’already about to come.”

Louis shushed him gently. “S’okay, love. Come for me,” he said, quickening his strokes. Harry threw his head back; his mouth was stretched in an O and a few tendrils of wet hair were sticking to his forehead and his cheeks were a wonderful shade of pink.

For once, Louis was grateful that he wasn’t chasing his own orgasm; he was so fucking glad that he had the presence of mind to just sit here and watch Harry come apart like this, come apart for him. He was so beautiful that Louis felt lost in it.

It was less than a minute before Harry was coming over Louis’ hand and onto both of their stomachs, panting and moaning Louis’ name over and over again.

He spent a good minute slumped against the shower tiles, eyes closed and breathing heavy. Finally, he reached out for Louis and buried his face in the crook of his neck, laughing giddily.

“So maybe we’ll have to save the whole ‘you fucking me in the shower thing’ for another day, hm?” he said quietly. Louis just laughed. 

“But shower blowies are just as good, right?” Harry whispered, pulling Louis in for a quick kiss before dropping to his knees with a devilish smirk. 

“Only when you're the one giving them, babe," Louis smiled.

 

Half an hour later, the pair of them were stretched out on the worn leather sofa watching _Sherlock_ and eating seconds of risotto.

“Hey, Lou?” Harry said, nudging Louis with his foot. “What’s up?” Louis asked. 

“Wanna help me pick out a Christmas tree this week?” Louis rolled his eyes, smiling fondly. “You’re getting a Christmas tree?”

Harry looked affronted that Louis even had to ask. “Of course I’m getting a Christmas tree! How could I not? It’s like, maybe the best part of Christmas!” he exclaimed, sounding like an overgrown child. Louis laughed. “We never do,” he shrugged. 

“It’s not my fault that you’re a Grinch,” Harry teased. “I resent that!” Louis huffed, moving to the other side of the couch and turning around so that his back was to Harry.

He grinned like an idiot when he felt Harry edging closer and tracing patterns on his back. “I’ll help with the tree if we can eat Christmas food and get drunk on eggnog,” Louis bargained. 

He could hear the satisfied grin in Harry’s voice when he spoke. “That sounds perfect,” he said quietly. Louis flopped back over so that he was half-straddling Harry and pressed their lips together, smiling into Harry’s mouth.

It was hard to believe that just a couple of hours ago, he had been in such an awful mood. Now, he couldn’t wipe the smile off his face. Because Harry wasn’t done with him. He wasn’t leaving. He was here and he was perfect and nothing else mattered.


	15. 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry the update took so long! the next ones should be coming really quickly, especially since i'll be on vacation starting thursday!
> 
> comment your thoughts, hope you enjoy!!

For the next week or so, Liam pretty much went off the grid. Louis was actually begrudgingly impressed at how well Liam was managing to dodge him when they shared a flat the size of a shoebox. 

After 24 hours with no response to his “we need to talk” text, Louis waited until Zayn had gone to his Monday physics lecture and pounded on Liam’s door, bellowing “I know you’re in there, Liam! You’re going to have to talk to me eventually, you know!” 

A moment later, the door opened and Liam appeared with his bag hitched over his shoulder. “I’m actually on my way out the door at the moment,” he said matter-of-factly. Louis put his hands on his hips. “Oh no you’re not,” he replied crossly. “You’re not going anywhere until we talk about what happened the other night.”

Liam’s eyes flashed but when he spoke it was in the same calm tone of voice. “What happened the other night isn’t your concern, Lou. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to get to the library.” Without another word, he swept past Louis and down the narrow hallway. 

Over the next week, Louis only saw Liam in passing as he was always on his way to class or to the gym or to the bookshop (he had conveniently arranged his shifts so that they didn’t coincide with Louis’, claiming that he needed to accommodate his finals study schedule). Finally, Louis was forced to admit that, for the time being, Liam didn’t want to talk to him. He made the executive decision to back off and wait until Liam was ready to approach him (and hopefully apologize for being such a prat).

 

Meanwhile, Zayn spent most of his spare time moping around the flat smoking cigarettes out the window, reading books about nihilism, and listening to The 1975’s surreal instrumental tracks. Louis was growing increasingly alarmed the longer this continued. 

“Zee, why don’t we go to that coffee shop you like? Maybe you’d be a bit more productive there,” he gently suggested one afternoon after he had returned from researching with Harry to find Zayn snoozing with a Kierkegaard book balanced in his lap. 

Zayn started and then slumped back onto his pillows when he saw that it was only Louis. “No thanks, man. M’fine here.” Louis surveyed him critically. “Come on, Zayn. You should get out of the flat. Fresh air is your friend.” Zayn had ultimately relented and after that, his spirits seemed to improve incrementally, meaning that he allowed Louis to drag him out of the flat for something other than class or work once every few days. 

That didn’t change the fact that every time Louis mentioned Liam’s name around Zayn, he went strangely dead behind the eyes until Louis changed the subject. Louis was starting to give up hope that their friend group would ever recover from the incident he had privately dubbed “Nickgate.”

 

Despite these unfortunate setbacks in the Liam and Zayn situation, Louis was still stupidly happy most of the time. Being so content in the midst of his friends’ misery made him feel like a total asshole, of course. But it was just that ever since he and Harry had had their Big Scary Conversation, they had been spending so much more time together and Louis couldn’t help being really fucking thrilled about it. 

Their schedules were hectic with finals quickly approaching, but Louis still found time to crash at Harry’s flat after cram sessions in the library and meet up with Harry at their favorite coffee shop to study together and indulge in extended “study breaks” that involved some of the best sex that Louis had ever had.

They had just finished one such “study break” when Louis heard his phone buzzing from somewhere nearby. “Buggering fuck, where is the fucking thing?” he muttered as he bent over to see if it had fallen on the floor.

“Lovely view,” Harry remarked from behind him. Louis looked over his shoulder and tried to scowl but one look at Harry’s wide smirk made him burst out laughing. “I hate you,” he informed Harry cheerfully as he rifled through his clothing trying to locate his phone.

“I think we both know that’s not true,” Harry said matter-of-factly. Louis rolled his eyes and smiled fondly as he finally found his phone in the pocket of his jeans and pressed it to his ear. “Hullo?” he said, ducking to avoid being hit in the face by a pillow Harry had just thrown.

“Hi, this is Perrie Edwards, y’know from uni? I’m not sure you remember me as it’s been about three years since we’ve talked.” Louis snorted. “Fuck off, Pez! It’s not been that long!” He could almost hear Perrie rolling her eyes. “Lou, it’s been two weeks!” she exclaimed. “Its not my fault that you don’t go to Coleman’s class,” he told her. 

“Well it is your fault that you spend all your free time in bed with your boyfriend,” she pointed out. “Lies! Shameful lies!” Louis exclaimed, but he smiled nonetheless because it was true and also because it felt surprisingly nice to hear someone else refer to Harry as his boyfriend.

“Hm, whatever you say,” Perrie replied. “Anyways, it’s been forever and I miss you!” Louis agreed that it had been way too long and arranged to meet Perrie for drinks during the coming weekend. “Niall will probably want to come too, so bring Harry if he’s free,” she instructed before ringing off.

 

Louis rolled his eyes as he tossed his phone on the bed. Perrie thought that she was being sneaky with the casual “bring Harry if he’s free” routine, but Louis knew better. She was always complaining that she and Niall didn’t have anyone to double date with and this was clearly a ploy to rectify that situation.

Louis had always dismissed double dating as some insincere, bullshit attempt at showing off your relationship in front of another couple. Now, watching Harry hum “Joy to the World” as he pulled his jumper over his head, leaving his curls hopelessly mussed, Louis thought that might not be such a bad thing. Not with Pez and Niall, at least.

A few weeks ago, he would have refused point blank, insisting that double dates were out of the question since he and Harry absolutely were not dating. Louis was starting to suspect that he’d been in denial several weeks ago.

But with everything in the open, he didn’t have to feel guilty about his feelings. Now, he could sit around and enjoy Harry’s company without analyzing everything and panicking when he broke one of the rules he’d set for himself.

“Was that Perrie?” Harry asked, jolting Louis out of his thoughts. He nodded. “Yep. Calling to guilt trip me for kind of forgetting about her the past couple of weeks,” he said, propping his hip against the bed-frame. Harry frowned and ducked his head. “Sorry,” he mumbled. Louis cocked his head to the side. “For what?” he asked, utterly non-plussed.

“For like, monopolizing all your time, I guess,” Harry said, looking at Louis with a guilty expression. Louis shook his head firmly, straightening up and turning to grip the bedpost so he was facing Harry head-on. “Harry, no. Don’t be ridiculous. It’s not your _fault._ Exam period is always busy, you know that.”

Louis was speaking quickly, desperate to get that terrible and totally unwarranted look of remorse off of Harry’s face as soon as possible. “And don’t ever apologize for spending time with me. I love spending time with you.” _I love you. I love you, you wonderful fucking idiot._

Fuck. Louis’ hands tightened on the bedposts and he had to stifle a gasp. He’d been so close to saying it. He’d never even thought it before and he’d almost opened his big mouth and fucking said it out loud. 

But God, it was so fucking true. He loved Harry Styles; felt so much for him that it sometimes felt too big for his body. But this was neither the time nor the place for dramatic and terrifying realizations like that, so Louis shoved it out of his mind as best he could and looked up to find Harry’s wide green eyes filling with relief and a big grin spreading across his face.

“Okay then,” Harry said. Louis nodded once. “Good,” he said, his voice a little higher than normal. He cleared his throat before going on. “By the way, Pez wants us to get drinks with her and Niall this weekend. Maybe after your office hours on Friday?”

 

So three days later, the four of them were crammed into a tiny booth at Niall’s favorite pub, a hole in the wall that Louis had never even heard of before Perrie texted him the address. They spent the half an hour it took to drink their first round bitching about the final exams that started on Monday and extended throughout the next week. 

“I still have like, 10 pages to write on Coleman’s final essay,” Perrie groaned. “Bet you’re already done with it, Lou,” she added, rolling her eyes as she popped a chip into her mouth. Louis shook his head. “Mine’s shit,” he insisted. “Pretty sure it’s my worst essay so far for that class.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “That is such bullshit and you know it, Louis Tomlinson,” he said sternly. He turned to Perrie beaming proudly. “His essay is brilliant,” he said. Louis buried his head in his hands. “Shut up, Harold,” he groaned. 

“It’s true!” Harry insisted, turning to Louis with his eyebrows knit together. “Your research question is so original and the writing’s incredible. That’s PhD level shit, Lou!” Louis rolled his eyes but he couldn’t help the stupid grin that slipped onto his face at Harry’s words. “You two are disgusting,” Perrie said after watching the exchange. Louis shot her the bird but Harry just shrugged and slipped an arm around Louis’ shoulders. 

 

Niall, who had been watching the football game playing on the telly, emptied his pint and looked around at the rest of them. “Round two?” he asked. Perrie and Louis both nodded but Harry seemed to be debating with himself. “I’m leading a study session tomorrow morning,” he said, chewing on his bottom lip. “ C’mon, Haz! A second drink isn’t going to kill you,” Louis said.

“Leave him be, Lou,” Niall said, his blue eyes gleaming mischievously. “Harry’s never been able to hold his liquor worth a shit.” Harry laughed. “Shut up, Ni! I could drink you under the table any day,” he said playfully. Niall raised his eyebrows, his tone suddenly serious. “There’s no way in hell you could out-drink me, Haz.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed. A gauntlet had been thrown and Louis knew that Harry wasn’t just going to drop it. “Oh, yeah? What do you wanna bet?” he asked. Niall’s eyes lit up. “Me and Pez versus you and Lou. If we win, you have to let us use your flat for our Christmas party, Hazza.” 

Harry scoffed. “That’s absurd. Why would you use my flat for _your_ party?” he asked. “Because my flat is a shit-hole and Pez lives in student housing,” Niall explained as if it should have been obvious. 

“And what if we win?” Louis asked. Niall and Perrie turned to each other and burst out laughing. “That won’t happen,” Niall said matter-of-factly. Louis scowled. “You’re going down, Horan,” he said. “And when Haz and I kick your ass, you two are going to buy our drinks for a month after we get back from winter hols.”

Niall didn’t bat an eye. “Deal,” he said, extending his hand for Louis to shake. “Right,” Perrie said, suddenly business-like. “Shots only from here on out, lads. I’ll go get the next round. Whiskey fine with everyone?”

 

Two hours in, the four of them had found their way back to Harry’s flat. Niall had insisted that drinking at the bar was too expensive and Harry had remembered a bottle of tequila that he’d been saving for a rainy day and so they’d relocated.

Louis realized around shot five that he and Harry were fucked. Niall had been right; Harry really couldn’t hold his liquor. He’d started getting all flushed and giggly after his third drink and by shot six, he was practically stumbling out of the bar. Thankfully, Perrie wasn’t doing much better. She and Harry had linked arms and started singing some ridiculous drinking song on the walk to Harry’s flat and she’d nearly tripped over her own feet and fallen flat on her ass. 

Louis was definitely feeling the effect of the alcohol, but somehow Niall seemed completely immune. “You’re cheating!” Louis slurred after they’d tossed back their eighth shot and everyone but Niall had shuddered at the taste.

Niall chuckled and shook his head. “Never try to out-drink an Irishman, Lou. I’ve tried to tell Hazza but he still hasn’t learned his lesson,” he said as they both watched Harry dancing to a Taylor Swift song in a way that his sober self would be mortified by. 

The next shot knocked both Harry and Perrie out of the competition. “M’sorry, Lou. I can’t drink anymore,” Harry whispered into his ear, nearly crawling into his lap on the sofa. Louis smiled and pressed a kiss to his temple. “S’okay, love. I can still kick Niall’s ass,” he said, sounding much more confident than he felt because he was fairly sure that he could not in fact kick Niall’s ass.

Harry hummed and traced his lips up Louis’ neck. “My hero, he breathed. “When you win I can be like, your spoils of war.” Louis laughed and Perrie mimed throwing up, heaving herself off the couch and beside Niall, who was sprawled on the floor with his back against a chair. “Right, then. Next shot!” Niall announced with a slightly manic grin. Louis groaned because he was most definitely fucked.

* * *

Louis woke up the next morning with a slight headache and a crick in his neck. He heard scuffling and cracked an eye open to find Niall sitting on the armchair eating a sandwich and reading one of Harry’s old copies of National Geographic. Louis realized that he was on Harry’s couch with a quilt stretched over him. “Where’s Harry?” he grumbled. “And Pez? Did she get home okay?”

“Perrie headed home a bit after you fell asleep,” Niall explained. “And Harry’s in his bed. You passed out on the couch around 2 and he wanted to carry you to bed but he was so pissed he would have killed both of you,” Niall chuckled.

“Where’d you sleep?” Louis asked, sitting up and stretching. “I crashed with Harry,” Niall said, flipping the page and examining a photo of a zebra with interest. Louis’ eyes narrowed. Before he could say anything, Niall laughed softly and said, “Don’t even start, mate.” Louis laughed too. “Right, sorry. Just kind of a knee-jerk reaction.” 

 

Louis switched on the telly and they sat in comfortable silence for about half an hour while a re-run of _The Office_ played in the background. Eventually, Harry joined them, yawning as he nudged Louis to one side of the couch so he could perch beside him.

“You’re leading that study session pretty soon, aren’t you?” Louis asked him. Harry groaned and buried his head in Louis’ shoulder. “Unfortunately,” he whined. “If it’s in Vanbrugh I can walk you there,” Louis offered. “It’s on the way to Costa.” Harry smiled and nodded. “Good. Shower before we have to go?”

Louis rolled his eyes and nodded towards Niall, who was still sitting on the chair reading his magazine. “I’m going, I’m going,” Niall said, taking the last bite of his sandwich and standing up gingerly. “The Christmas party is after finals end next Friday night,” he informed them. “I’ll come over and start setting up at around 7.” 

Harry sighed. “Fuck, I’d forgotten about that. I’m not providing food or drinks, Ni. I refuse.” Niall just laughed and tossed the magazine back on the coffee table. “No one’s askin’ you to, mate. Jesus. See you at the party next week, Lou. Bring all your mates,” he said over his shoulder as he walked to the front door. “Will do,” Louis said. “Good luck on exams, Nialler.” 

 

Niall let himself out, leaving Louis and Harry a solid hour before they had to be productive members of society. “So last night you said something about being my spoils of war,” Louis smirked as he slipped a hand onto Harry’s thigh. Harry blushed. “Did I actually say that? God, that’s embarrassing,” he laughed. “I thought it was kind of hot, actually,” Louis said. 

“Well then,” Harry said, green eyes darkening and breath hitching as Louis’ hand creeped higher. “I guess we could work something out. Even though you didn’t actually win,” he pointed out. “Heyyy,” Louis drawled. “Did better than you, didn’t I?” Harry chuckled and slipped his hands underneath Louis’ t-shirt. “Just teasing, love. S’not your fault that Niall has an iron liver,” he said as he pulled Louis’ shirt over his head and mouthed at one of his nipples. 

Louis wrinkled his nose. “Could we not talk about Niall right now?” he muttered as Harry moved to straddle him. “Could we not talk about anything?” Harry asked as he nipped at Louis’ earlobe. “Yes, please,” Louis laughed as he threaded a hand into Harry’s curls and tipped his head back to join their lips.

* * *

Louis didn’t sleep for the next 52 hours. Up to this point, he had convinced himself that he didn’t actually have all that much work to do. However, when he laid all of his work in front of him at Costa that afternoon, it became clear that he had been mistaken. Two exams, all of one essay and the conclusion and bibliography of another, as well as his final write-up for Coleman’s research project stood between Louis and his winter vacation.

After his economics test on Thursday afternoon, Louis would be out of the woods but until then, he had his work cut out for him. Fortunately, Zayn had pulled  out of his slump enough to throw himself into his studies and as a result they spent much of the next week in each other’s company, studying feverishly in their favorite corner of the library. 

By the time he walked out of his last final, Louis felt less than half human—sleep-deprived and over-caffeinated and in desperate need of a long, steaming shower. Alas, he had 24 hours to write the second half of an essay for his human rights seminar so he heaved a great sigh and rejoined Zayn on the third floor of the library for one final push after texting Harry to ask how his last exam had gone.

Harry’s response was enough to put a weary smile on his face as he unpacked his laptop and books. “Smashed it, I think! One more day until you’re done and we can properly celebrate. xx.” One more day. Then he would be finished with finals hell and he’d have the entire weekend to unwind before heading to Doncaster for Christmas. 

 

Harry had announced over dinner last week that he was taking Louis out for his birthday on Sunday, the night before he went home. “I’m still mad that I can’t take you out on your actual birthday,” he’d grumbled to which Louis had replied, “It’s not my fault that I was born on Christmas Eve! You’ll have to take that up with my mum!” 

There was also Niall and Perrie’s Christmas party the following evening to look forward to. He had managed to convince Zayn to come, as well as Olly and Ed. He had texted Liam and invited him but he’d declined, saying that he had plans with the blokes from his accounting study group. 

Louis, who was still slightly wounded by the cold shoulder Liam had been giving him, didn’t push it like he usually would have. He wasn’t going to force himself on someone who clearly didn’t want to spend time with him. With that less-than-pleasant thought, Louis grit his teeth and set to work on his essay.

 

He submitted his paper on Friday at around 2 in the afternoon, a few hours before the deadline. He immediately returned to his flat and took a celebratory nap that lasted until 6, when Zayn plopped onto his bed and waved an unlit joint in his face.

“Look alive, Tommo. You can get your beauty sleep over winter hols,” he said, lighting up the joint and passing it to a still-groggy Louis. “Nice way to wake up,” Louis said appreciatively, taking a long pull. “Still going to Niall and Pezza’s Christmas thing?” he asked. “Perrie told me she’ll pay you 10 pounds if you show up in an ugly Christmas jumper.” 

Zayn shot Louis a withering glare. Louis grinned; he knew that the odds of Zayn wearing an ugly Christmas jumper in public were less than zero. “What time do you want to leave?” Zayn asked him. Louis shrugged. “I don’t really care. Ed said something about getting drinks before. Want me to ask if he and Olly wanna come here?” 

Zayn nodded. “As long as Ed doesn’t bring his fucking guitar. Bloke thinks he’s a propersongwriter whenever he’s stoned,” Zayn remarked. “He’s not bad,” Louis said fairly. Zayn hummed noncommittally and Louis rolled his eyes, pulling out his phone to text the lads.

 

Louis was already proper buzzed when he got to Harry’s flat at around 9, where Niall clapped him on the back and pressed a shot of Fireball into his hand as soon as he was through the door. He knocked back the drink and looked around for Harry.

He felt Zayn go stiff beside him and followed Zayn’s gaze to the corner of the living room, where Harry was plugging his phone into a speaker set and chatting animatedly with Nick Grimshaw. Louis winced. He should have known that Nick would be here, should have known how awkward that would be for Zayn. 

“Sorry, Zee—“ he started, but Zayn held up his hand. “Don’t worry about it, man,” he said shortly. “S’really not that big of a deal.” Louis didn’t totally buy it, but he nodded nonetheless. At that moment, Harry caught Louis’ eye and waved him over before seeing Zayn standing beside him, glancing at Nick, and visibly wincing. “Right. I’m gonna go find Perrie,” Zayn said after a slightly awkward silence. 

“Yeah, I’ll be right behind you,” Louis assured him before crossing the room towards Harry and Nick. He shook his head when he saw what Harry was wearing: tight black jeans as always and a bright blue Hawaiian print shirt with half the buttons undone. God, this ridiculous boy was going to kill him.

 

“Hi, Hazza,” he smiled when he’d reached them. “Your shirt is absurd.” Harry chose to ignore his last comment. “Happy end of finals!” he drawled, slow and lazy and Louis could tell he was already quite tipsy. He pulled Louis toward him and gave him a kiss that was just a little too enthusiastic for the very public setting. Louis pulled back and had to suppress a laugh at the slightly horrified expression on Nick’s face.

Harry wrinkled his nose. “You taste like a spliff,” he remarked. Louis dissolved into giggles at the confused look on Harry’s face. “Sorry, is it gross? Zayn and I smoked for a bit before we came,” he said once he’d stopped laughing. Harry shook his head. “I kind of like it, weirdly enough,” he said, pulling Louis in for another kiss.

At that, Nick actually cleared his throat. Louis separated from Harry just enough to look Nick in the eye. “Sorry, mate,” he said, wiping his mouth and wrapping his hand around Harry’s waist. “How’s it going?” he asked in a tone that was rather frostier than he’d meant it to be. Nick shrugged. “Same old, same old,” he replied tersely. 

Louis didn’t say anything to that and the two men stood in tense silence for a long moment, sizing each other up. Finally, Harry spoke, his voice deep and slow and almost comically awkward. “I—uh, Niall needed some help in the kitchen, I think. Lou, do you wanna come help in the uh, kitchen?” Louis raised an eyebrow but nodded. “Yeah, okay. Later, Nick,” he said before following Harry out of the room. 

 

It turns out Niall had needed help judging the drunk gingerbread-decorating contest that was in full swing at the tiny kitchen table. Perrie and Zayn were teamed up against Ollie and Ed, who were currently bickering about whether or not the roof on their gingerbread house needed shingles. “What the fuck even are shingles?” Olly asked grumpily as he lined one wall with gumdrops. 

“Are you lot almost done?” Niall asked impatiently. “Zayn and Pez have already got you beat and I’m fucking starving.” The rest of them heartily agreed and spent the next thirty minutes or so demolishing the houses and chatting as they ate.

They eventually made their way back into the living room and Niall pulled Harry to the other side of the room to meet his physical therapy student friends while Louis recapped the highlights of the last football season with Ollie. After a while though, Louis let the conversation die and focused on watching Harry, who was now swaying his hips to “Last Christmas” with his arms looped around Niall’s shoulders while both of them belted all the words. They had their heads tipped back in laughter and Louis momentarily felt like the air had been punched out of his lungs.

Harry was so perfect like this, enthusiastic and unguarded and just fucking radiant. He glowed with this intangible energy, like there was a spotlight on him. Louis wondered absently what this beautiful human saw in him as he watched Niall twirling him around, both of them almost tripping when Harry couldn’t quite fit under his own arm.

 

Louis finally looked away, glancing to his right to see Nick looking at Harry in a terrible, yearning way that made Louis want to punch something, like maybe Nick's face. “Do you have a thing for Harry?” Louis blurted out before he could stop himself. Nick whipped around. “What did you just say?” he sputtered. 

“Come off it, you heard me,” Louis said firmly, pausing for a moment before he added, “You do, don’t you?” in a gentler tone. “That’s—it’s not any of your business,” Nick snapped. “It actually is my business. Y’know, since we’re dating,” Louis said matter-of-factly. 

Nick laughed unkindly. “I’ve known Harry a lot longer than you have, Louis,” Nick said coldly. “He falls fast and hard, but this thing between you two isn’t going to last. Especially since Harry probably won’t be in York for much longer anyway.”

“Is that right?” Louis sneered, trying to ignore the way his heart was hammering in his chest and his blood was rushing to his ears. “So what, you’re just waiting to make your move?” Louis asked, his voice shaking with anger. 

“Maybe I am,” Nick replied, eyes narrowing. “We grew up together, y’know? We used to snog sometimes in secondary school. Did he ever tell you that?” Nick said casually. Louis didn’t say anything, but the shock must have registered on his face because Nick smirked. “Guess not,” he said. “In any case, Harry deserves a lot better than you, doesn’t he?”

 

Before Louis had time to reply, another voice cut in. “Nick?” Harry’s voice rang loud and clear over the buzz of music and laughter in the background. Louis and Nick both started and looked up to see Harry staring between them, emerald green eyes blazing.

“H—Harry,” Nick started, a tinge of desperation in his voice. “I didn’t—what did you—.” Harry cut him off. “I think we need to talk,” he said firmly. Nick looked down and sighed but then he nodded. “Yeah, okay,” he said. “Outside,” Harry said. Nick nodded again and headed for the door without a word to Louis.

Harry turned to Louis. He looked sad and tired all of a sudden, his earlier flush completely extinguished. “Lou, can you make sure Niall doesn’t burn down the flat while I’m gone?” he asked grimly. Louis nodded and squeezed his hand reassuringly. “S’okay. Take as long as you need,” he said softly. Harry gave him a grateful look, then nodded once and turned to leave.

 

The party was winding down by the time Harry returned, this time without Nick. Louis took one look at the tense set of his shoulders and the deep frown on his face and knew that the flat needed to be emptied immediately.

“Niall, kick everyone out,” he said forcefully. Niall didn’t ask questions, just turned and yelled, “Party’s over, you lot!” 

He turned to Louis. “Is Haz okay? Can I clean up now or do I need to come back tomorrow?” Louis chewed on his bottom lip and thought for a moment. “Tomorrow, I think,” he said.

Niall nodded and pulled Louis into a one-armed hug. “Take care of him, mate,” he said before ushering the last of the party guests out of the flat and closing the door behind them.

 

When the flat was quiet, Louis followed Harry into his bedroom and leaned on the doorframe, studying Harry for a long moment. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asked tentatively.

Harry didn’t tell him exactly what had been said, but he did say that he and Nick had agreed not to talk for a while. “What he said about you was not on,” Harry said vehemently. “And he uh—he said that he needed some time to get over me before we can try to be friends again.”

Louis could tell that Harry felt guilty and he hated that. It wasn’t Harry’s fault that he was a wonderful person who people developed feelings for. He told Harry as much, which just made Harry shake his head and laugh ruefully.

Louis settled for drawing Harry up against his chest and running a soothing hand through his hair until his body relaxed and his breathing slowed.

* * *

Louis woke up early the next morning and padded into the kitchen to put the kettle on. “Jesus, mate! You scared me!” he exclaimed when he walked into the room to find Niall stooped over the sink washing last night’s dishes. Niall jolted at the disturbance, splashing dishwater all down Louis’ front.

“Sorry, Lou!” he exclaimed, but he doubled over in laughter when he saw the cross expression on Louis’ face. “It’s early; thought you’d still be asleep,” he explained as he handed Louis a dish towel.

“Is Harry feeling better?” Niall asked. Louis frowned. “Not really,” he said. “I think he feels  responsible or something,” Louis continued, rolling his eyes at the absurdity of that notion.

Niall nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah, I thought things with Grimmy might not turn out so well,” he said. After a long pause he shrugged. “Always thought he was a bit of a prat meself, but s’not really my business, is it?”

Louis didn’t say anything to to that, just peered at the floor and ran a hand through his fringe. No, he supposed it wasn’t any of their business. His business for the rest of the day was to cheer Harry up as much as he possibly could. So he told Niall to budge up and started rustling through the refrigerator for bacon and eggs.

 

He and Niall ended up climbing into bed with Harry when the food was ready and the three of them ate in sleepy, appreciative silence. Once or twice, Louis caught Harry looking at him in a way that made him feel oddly weightless, grateful and warm and fond.

“So,” Louis said as he took his final bite of toast. “What are we doing today?” he asked Harry. Niall stood up and stretched, his back cracking obscenely. “I propose a FIFA tourney and a shit ton of junk food,” he said. 

There was a long pause as Louis and Harry looked at each other and then back at Niall, who stared back at them, a slight flush creeping high on his cheeks. “Oh, you meant the two of you. Right, sorry—,” he started before both Harry and Louis roared with laughter. 

“Come off it! Course we want you to hang out with us!” Harry said once he’d regained his composure. "Ni, your face!” Louis gasped between peals of laughter.

Niall scowled and crossed his arms over his chest. “Well, what was I supposed to think? Haz is always sending me away so you two can, like,”—he made a vague hand gesture—“whatever.”

“That’s a filthy lie,” Harry said. “It’s really not,” Louis cut in and Niall cackled. “At least one of you is in touch with reality,” he said, shaking his head and carrying his plate to the sink.

They spent the next several hours locked in an intense FIFA showdown. It took all of half an hour to knock Harry out of the running and after that he was content to divide his attention between watching the match and perusing a novel his sister had sent him.

Niall begged off around 2 and left Louis and Harry to lounge on the couch and talk while half-watching the telly. It was lazy and uneventful and kind of perfect, the type of afternoon that seemed to stretch on and on as Louis reveled in the freedom of being completely finished with exams and having absolutely nowhere else that he needed or wanted to be. 

Harry made them both tea and sandwiches, preparing Louis’ exactly the way he liked without having to ask. After lunch, Louis proposed a game of “Would You Rather” and they came up with increasingly bizarre hypothetical scenarios while Louis massaged the knots out of Harry’s shoulders. The whole afternoon was weirdly…domestic, for lack of a better word. It was quite nice, if not slightly disconcerting.

 

By the time Louis left, the sky was an inky blue and he was contemplating a late dinner with Zayn and maybe Perrie, if she was free. He let himself into his flat and poked his head into the kitchen on the way to his bedroom.

Liam was hunched over the counter making a peanut butter and banana sandwich and humming along to the music that was blasting through his headphones. With a jolt, Louis realized that it had been days since he’d last seen Liam beyond passing by him in the hallway as one of them was running out the door.

He knew that Liam was avoiding him, had known it for weeks now and up until this moment, he had been content to wait until Liam approached him. But all of a sudden, watching his best mate doing some goofy dance while he made his sandwich, Louis felt a sudden, unexplainable rush of anger.

He was fucking tired of being pushed away and avoided. Louis was struck by the strong impulse to demand an explanation, to ask Liam what in the hell had been going on.

“Hey, man,” Louis said loudly, stepping into the kitchen. Liam yelped and dropped the peanut butter-covered knife. “Fuck, Lou! You scared the piss out of me!” he said, stooping to retrieve the knife. Louis didn’t say anything, just crossed his arms and fixed Liam with a searching look.

Liam seemed to droop a bit under his gaze. “So, uh—happy to be done with finals?” he asked after several long seconds. Louis laughed humorlessly. “No, I love finals. Wish they’d lasted a bit longer, to tell you the truth” he said slightly petulantly. 

Liam winced and Louis felt a pang of guilt because okay, the unkindness really wasn’t necessary. “M’sorry, Li,” he said, rubbing a hand over his face. “I just—I hate the way it’s been over the past few weeks.”

Liam looked down, his brown eyes full of regret. “I know, me too, Lou,” he said quietly.

“Then why have you been avoiding me like the plague?” Louis asked. “Like, I kept trying to talk to you and like, text you but you completely shut me out.” 

Liam nodded. “I know. It’s kind of hard to explain but just like, I needed some space from the whole Zayn thing and you were so wrapped up in it and I just had to stop thinking about it for a bit.” 

“But that’s what I don’t understand!” Louis said. “Why did you need space from the Zayn thing? Everything was going so well and then—.” Liam held up a hand to cut Louis off. 

“This is exactly what I’m talking about, Lou. I knew you’d just want to rehash the whole thing and I couldn’t do that. It’s—I just can’t do that when I need to work on getting over him.”

“Honestly, Liam! Why would you want to get over Zayn? That’s just fucking stupid!” Louis said. “Anyone could see how well things were going that night before you went and cocked things up!”

Liam glowered at him. “Jesus, Lou! Stop pushing it! Just let me get over this in peace!” he said, his voice uncharacteristically harsh. 

Louis shook his head violently. “I’m not gonna let you get over it, you fucking idiot! Zayn’s completely crazy about you! He has been for months! Why do you think he’s been moping around ever since you hooked up with Nick?” 

Louis' voice was rising, the words spilling out of his mouth before he could even think about stopping them. The anxiety and resentment and concern that had come from keeping this secret for so long had come to a bursting point and now it was all spilling out of him, ugly and unfiltered.

“Honestly, you two are so fucking dim. You’ve been arse over tits for each other all term and you’re both justtoo cowardly to do anything about it! Even though I begged you to! Like, begged. Multiple times. But it was always ‘No, I don’t want to take advantage!’ or ‘No, there’s no way he likes me!’ If you’d just stopped making excuses, everything could have worked out!” Louis finished, breathing hard.

 

Liam looked up at him with an odd blankness on his face that Louis had never seen before. "You knew." Liam said quietly. "Sorry?" Louis asked nervously. "You knew," he repeated. "You knew I liked Zayn."

Louis opened his mouth to interject but Liam cut across him. "Knew I'd liked him for months. Knew it was driving me fucking crazy not knowing how he felt. But you knew exactly how he felt."

"Li, listen, he’d made me promise not to say anything. I couldn’t—“ Louis started, but Liam interrupted him. "You couldn’t? " he asked, letting out a harsh bark of laughter. “Come on, Louis. Don't give me that bullshit excuse. You could. You just didn't want to.”

“That was fucking cowardly, Louis.” Zayn’s voice cut in and Louis felt his entire body tense up. 

He looked up to find Zayn standing in the doorway glaring at him. At some point, during Louis’ rant, Zayn had evidently emerged from his room to investigate the source of the commotion. And heard the entire thing, judging by the way his eyes were narrowing in anger.

Louis looked between his two friends in panic. Now that some of his fury had faded, Louis saw that he might have fucked up just a bit.

“I didn’t want to betray your trust, either of you,” Louis started, but even as he said them, the words sounded hollow.

What the fuck had he been thinking? His mates wouldn’t have cared about him “betraying their trust” if he could have resolved this huge issue between them. How could he have been so bloody stupid? How could he have watched them struggle and not said a word, all so that he could feel like he was doing the right thing? 

 

“I fucked up,” Louis said at last. Liam scoffed. “Yeah, okay. Thanks for saying that, Lou. That makes everything loads better.” He rolled his eyes and pushed past both of them, out of the flat, muttering something that sounded like “bullshit.”

Louis turned to Zayn. “M’sorry, Zee.” Zayn closed his eyes and massaged his temples. When he spoke, his voice was icy. “Don’t talk to me, Louis. Just fucking save it,” he said. He turned on his heel and strode out of the room and, a moment later, Louis heard his bedroom door slamming shut. 

Louis cursed and slammed his fist on the counter, then cursed again at the intense jolt of pain that shot up his arm. This was bad. Like, really bad. Like, his two best friends never speaking to him again bad.

He didn’t know what else to do, so he turned on his heel and walked out of the flat with no idea of where he was going.

 

Louis wasn’t sure how long he’d been walking when he stopped and realized that he was standing in front of Harry’s building. He’d been walking towards Harry’s flat without even realizing it, his feet carrying him there on autopilot. That made sense, since Harry was pretty much the only person Louis wanted to talk to right now. Before he could stop to consider the fact that turning up at Harry’s flat when he’d left less than two hours ago was ridiculous, Louis was dialing Harry’s number and pressing the phone to his ear.

“Miss me already?” Harry greeted him, his voice light and cheerful. “Hi. I—uh,” Louis started but then he stopped because he wasn’t sure why he’d called in the first place.

“Louis?” Harry’s voice tightened and Louis could almost see his brows knitting together like they always did when he was concerned. 

“I know I just left your place but like, could I maybe come over?” Louis asked, words coming out in a rush, choosing not to mention that he was already right outside.

“Of course you can,” Harry said gently. “I was about to hop in the shower so just let yourself in whenever you get here, okay?” Louis nodded and then remembered that Harry couldn’t see him so he cleared his throat and said, “Yeah, okay. Thank you for, uh—.”

“I’ll see you soon, love,” Harry interrupted in that same warm, careful tone. Louis nodded again and rung off. Everything would be okay. Harry would know what to do. He always did.


	16. 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> merry christmas to all those celebrating with copious amounts of fanfiction like me! :)
> 
> we're getting close to the end, folks...this one was a little hard to write as I wasn't sure which direction (hehe) I wanted to go in. anyways, hope you enjoy! I love comments so leave them!! <3

Louis let himself into Harry’s flat and sank onto the leather sofa, focusing on the sound of the shower running in the next room so he didn’t have to think about how much he had royally fucked up with Liam and Zayn.

If he listened hard enough, he could make out the deep hum of Harry’s voice as he sang a tune Louis couldn’t quite make out. It helped to ease some of the panic simmering low in his gut. Sitting here and looking at the Christmas tree they had put up together while Harry’s voice drifted vaguely through the bathroom door felt reassuring and safe and familiar. Felt like home.

Everything was going to be fine. Louis would make them both a cup of tea and then he’d tell Harry what had happened and Harry would listen and be completely lovely and then tomorrow—once Liam and Zayn had cooled off—he would talk to them.

“They’re not going to cool off,” came a small, nasty voice in his head. “You literally fucked up months of their lives. They’re not just going to forgive you for that.” Louis shook his head. He suddenly realized that he couldn’t sit still for one more second.

 

He got to his feet on shaky legs and walked into the kitchen, focusing all his energy on putting the kettle on and searching for tea bags. They weren’t in their normal place to the left of the refrigerator and Louis started scouring the drawers and cabinets. “Don’t tell me he's out,” Louis muttered to himself as he ran his hand along the top shelf of a cabinet.

There were no tea bags up there, but he did knock something else out of the cabinet and onto the floor. It was a piece of paper. He cursed to himself and bent to retrieve it, absently wondering why Harry, the most organized person he knew, would keep a random sheet of paper in a dusty corner of his kitchen cabinet.

He glanced down at the paper and did a double take when he saw the Columbia University crest in the top corner. He suddenly had a vivid recollection of Harry telling him how he’d spent one summer studying at Columbia during undergrad. Harry’s words drifted into his mind, clear as day. 

“My granddad went to Columbia and split his time between New York and London for most of his life. I always kind of wanted to go there as a kid but I ended up choosing Oxford. Still, it was great to spend a summer there. I’d love to go back someday.”

“Why would Harry be getting a letter from Columbia?” Louis wondered out loud. Before he could stop himself, he was skimming the first few lines of the letter. 

 

_Mr. Styles,_

_It’s my pleasure to inform you that you have been selected as the recipient for this year’s Arthur T. Pendleton Fellowship. As you know, the fellowship involves a 2-year residency at Columbia University and a $5,000 grant to fund the research project that you’ve proposed.The entire committee was extremely impressed by the work you submitted on oral histories of the Middle Passage and we are confident that the University will provide you with the resources and faculty relationships to realize the great potential of this project._

 

Louis’ brows knit in confusion. Harry had applied for a two year grant project in New York? That couldn’t be right; he’d never said anything about it to Louis. Surely Harry would have at least mentioned that. Wouldn’t he? Louis’ stomach sank as he continued to read:

 

_As you know, this fellowship is an extremely competitive one, and we’ll need your decision no later than December 23. We look forward to your response and encourage you to reach out with any questions you might have._

 

December 23 was two days from now. The realization hit him like a ton of bricks. Harry wasn’t even going to tell him until after he’d accepted. Until after it was a done deal and he’d be leaving for good.

Louis feverishly stuffed everything back into the cabinet with fumbling fingers. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t fucking breathe. Harry was moving across a fucking ocean and he hadn’t even bothered to mention it to him. Not once. “Christ, he didn’t even tell me he was applying,” Louis muttered.

Harry’s kitchen seemed to be closing in on him. It was suddenly too warm and too bright and too goddamn cheery. Louis’ ears were ringing and his heart felt like it was sinking to the bottom of his stomach and fluttering madly at the same time. He suddenly realized that the shower wasn’t running anymore and that Harry would be out any minute now.

He had to get out and he had to get out right this instant. If he saw Harry, he was one hundred percent sure that he would break into a million pieces and he couldn’t let Harry see him that way. Louis carefully shut the cupboard door before turning and walking out of the flat as quickly as he could.

 

He broke into a run the moment he was outside the building. He didn’t care that he looked like an idiot. All he cared about was putting as much distance between himself and Harry Styles as he possibly could. Once he was a few blocks away, Louis felt his phone vibrating in his pocket. He pulled it out on instinct and saw that someone had texted. It was Harry. Of course it was Harry. 

“Thought I heard you come in while I was in the shower, is everything okay?” Louis swallowed back a sob, hating himself for it. It wasn’t fucking fair that Harry was so thoughtful and caring and concerned when he was getting ready to walk out of Louis’ life forever. He had no right to act this way, no right to make Louis fall in bloody stupid fucking love with him when he was just going to leave.

Another text came through. “Babe, are you okay? I’m getting worried.” Louis’ stomach lurched. He barely made it to a garbage bin on the corner before he was retching and emptying the contents of his stomach. The acidic burn in his throat was almost a relief from the horrendous weight pressing down on his chest, making him feel like he could hardly breathe.

 

He straightened up and wiped his mouth with a hand that he realized was shaking violently. A bitter voice in his head told him to pull himself together, right the fuck now. “You knew this was coming,” he told himself. “That’s why you had the rules; so you wouldn’t get hurt. Harry was always going to leave eventually. You knew that.”

Fuck, when had he let himself forget? When had he stopped remembering that this whole bloody thing had an expiration date? When had he become this person who let a guy walk into his life and just fucking take over everything? Because that’s exactly what Harry had done. Exactly what Louis had let him do. He’d nestled into every nook and cranny of Louis’ life. He’d fit so seamlessly; _they’d_ fit so fucking well together.

Louis felt a sharp pinprick behind his eyes and an awful lump in the back of his throat. He clenched his eyes shut and swallowed hard. He absolutely was not going to fucking cry. He was going to drink, he decided abruptly. He was going to drink so much that he’d forget that Harry was leaving, forget that Harry hadn’t told him, forget about Harry altogether.

Truth be told, Louis knew even as he crossed the street to the pub that this was not a winning strategy, that getting pissed wasn’t going to get him anything but a terrible headache in the morning and confirmation that he was a weak, pathetic person. But he wasn’t about to go home to face Liam and Zayn and it wasn’t like he could go to Harry’s, was it?

* * *

The pub was full of people, presumably celebrating the end of exams. Louis pushed through the crowd and found a seat at the bar, trying his hardest to block out the noise. The pounding of the music and the thrashing bodies pressing in on him and the dim lights—all of it was so vividly, hellishly familiar. Because suddenly Louis was reliving that night a million years ago when Harry had stolen his cigarette and kissed him for the first time and led him into that fucking broom cupboard.

His mind was a mess of _HarryHarryHarry_. Harry looking flushed and eager and beautiful. Harry telling Louis that he wanted him, that he had to have him right that instant. Harry making him fall apart with his mouth.

And it hurt. Actually, physically hurt. It felt like pressing on a massive bruise as hard as he could. Louis leaned into the pain with a determined kind of ferocity. He deserved every ounce of this. He thought he’d learned his lesson the first time. He had told himself no feelings, no matter what. And then he’d gone and gotten himself into this mess.

 

He tipped back his head and threw back an entire tumbler of whiskey in one swallow. Then he shut his eyes andtried to think about something, anything other than Harry. But the thing was that, over the last few months, Harry was _everywhere:_ shooting him furtive grins during Coleman’s lectures and watching him play football looking like he was torn between pride and desire and constantly recommending books he thought Louis would like and waking up next to him with fond, sleepy smiles.

Louis ordered another whiskey and thought back to what Nick had said at the Christmas party the night before: “Harry probably won’t be in York for much longer anyway.” At the time, Louis had thought Nick was just being a prat, but this was obviously what he’d been talking about. Harry had told Nick fucking Grimshaw and he hadn’t bothered to say one word to Louis.

The thought sent a sharp stab shooting somewhere behind his ribcage. It also made him finish his next drink in a few long swigs and signal to the bartender for another. If he was going to be a pathetic loser, he might as well go all out, right?

 

He didn’t know how much later, but at some point, Louis found himself sitting on the stoop of some store with his head in his hands, absently wondering how much more he’d have to drink before he would just pass the fuck out. Surely not that much more? He already felt hazy and weightless and pleasantly light-headed. If he could just go to sleep, he knew he would feel better. Of course, that involved somehow getting back to his flat. Which might be a problem, considering Louis had no clue where he was.

He gradually became aware of a familiar voice calling his name, but he didn’t have the energy to investigate where the voice was coming from. He was comfortable where he was, thanks very much. He only looked up when he felt a warm hand on his shoulder. “Lou? Is that you?”

The voice was warm and Irish and concerned. Niall. Louis finally lowered his hands and glanced up miserably. “Hi, Niall,” he mustered. “Are you okay, mate? You look like hell,” Niall said, his eyebrows knit together as he studied Louis. 

Louis couldn’t think of what to say to that. He was so out of it and so bloody _tired._ “I, uh—I,” he started, then trailed off. “I think you should come with me,” Niall suggested, hauling him off the curb easily. “You don’ have to worry ‘bout it, really,” Louis slurred, losing his footing as he took a step forward and slumping embarrassingly on Niall’s shoulder because apparently his legs had decided to stop working.

Niall shook his head. “Nah, man. You can crash at my place, s’not far,” Niall said firmly. “A-are you going to call Harry?” Louis asked, his voice cracking on the last word. “You bet your arse I am,” Niall muttered, swinging an arm around Louis’ shoulder and guiding both of them down the dark street.

* * *

When Louis woke up, it was still dark outside, but it was a dusky, indigo darkness tinged with the faintest hint of orange. He figured it had to be a bit before 6. He suddenly realized that he wasn’t in a familiar bed or, in fact, any bed but rather on a worn, floral-patterned sofa in a cluttered, unfamiliar living room.

Niall’s living room. He was in Niall’s flat because Niall had found him on the street and felt sorry for him and taken him home. Louis had officially reached a new low. He sat up and swung both legs off the couch, wincing at the pounding in his head resulting from the sudden movement. 

There was a glass of water and two paracetamol on the coffee table that Louis could only assume were for him, and he downed both gratefully. Niall was wonderful and Louis would make this up to him when he didn’t feel like he was trudging through the seventh circle of hell. 

 

For now though, he needed to get the fuck out of here. More specifically, he needed to get home. He stopped by the flat just long enough to throw some clothes and his Christmas presents for the girls into a duffle bag. Then he was on a bus to the train station very determinedly _not_ thinking about Harry Styles.

After he hoisted his duffle bag into the overhead compartment and collapsed into an empty seat, he looked at his phone for the first time since last night. He had a slew of text messages and missed calls, all from Harry. The most recent one was from 20 minutes ago, and he’d left a voicemail.

Louis pressed the phone to his ear and his breath caught in his throat when he heard Harry’s voice—deep and slow and a little raspy like always but tight and tired and laced with worry. “Lou. Niall just called and he—he said that you slept at his place last night. He said you were in a right state. Louis, please tell me what’s going on. I, uh,”—there was a long pause where Harry took a deep, steadying breath—“I’m really worried. So. Yeah. I’ll uh, see you tonight for your birthday dinner. But please call me before then. Please, Lou.”

Louis had thought that he couldn’t feel any shittier, but he’d clearly been wrong. This was worse than the throbbing headache and possibly worse than the gut punch he experienced every time he remembered that Harry was leaving. Harry sounded awful and Louis had done that. And he’d forgotten about the fucking birthday dinner so that was just fucking awesome.

He opened his texts and composed a message to Harry, read it through twice, and pressed send. “Sorry I never showed last night, ended up going out and getting a little carried away. I’m really not feeling well, so I decided to head home for Christmas a day early. I’m really sorry.”

Then he powered his phone down and turned to stare out the window and watch York fade behind him.

 

When his mum picked him up at the train station, she took one look at him and wrapped him into a tight hug. “Oh, Lou,” she murmured into his hair. “What’s wrong, love?” That was all it took before he was sagging into her, clutching the back of her shirt and trying to force air out of his lungs. “Oh, sweetie,” she whispered. “It’s alright, darling. It’s okay.”

And it wasn’t. It wasn’t okay at all. But Louis still let his mother rub his back and stroke his hair and whisper soothing words in his ear until he’d stopped shaking.

Louis spent most of the next three days on the large, overstuffed sofa that had been sitting in their living room for as long as he could remember. He sat curled in one corner with his favorite quilt spread over his legs while his sisters flitted about, singing on their old karaoke machine and watching Christmas films and baking sugar cookies. 

One afternoon, Fizzy had started complaining about how hard it was to paint the nails on her left hand and Louis had wordlessly taken the bottle of polish from her and painted her nails, which had led to all of the girls requesting manicures. It was a testament to how shitty he felt that he hardly put up a fight.

Louis took comfort in these mundane activities; somehow, it transformed the sharp stab of pain from a few nights ago into a duller, slightly more bearable throb.

His mum must have warned the girls that something was up, because none of them asked why he was moping about and they all treated him with a tender kind of cautiousness that Louis was deeply grateful for.

 

On the morning of the 24th, he woke up to a jostling bed and a chorus of “Happy Birthday, Lou!” He groaned and reluctantly opened his eyes but smiled when he saw his sisters piling onto the bed and snuggling in beside him. His mum was standing in the doorway with a plate of waffles in one hand and a glass of orange juice in the other. “Happy birthday, BooBear,” she smiled. “Happy Christmas Eve,” he yawned.

“Breakfast in bed!” Daisy chirped. “Then presents!” Fizzy said excitedly. “Lou, will you open my present first? Please?” Pheobe implored. “No, he’s opening mine first!” Daisy pouted. “Oi! Give him room to breathe!” Lottie reminded, flicking Daisy’s nose. Sitting in his bed surrounded by his family and stuffing his face with waffles, Louis felt halfway human for the first time in days. 

The thought of leaving his house—of going back to school and having to face Zayn and Liam, having to face Harry—made Louis feel slightly nauseous. So he threw himself into loudly admiring how wonderful breakfast tasted and opening his presents with an air of shocked delight and thanking each of the girls in turn with smothering hugs and kisses on the tops of their heads.

About an hour after breakfast and presents, Louis’ mum called up telling him to come downstairs because he had a visitor. Louis, who had just finished showering, toweled off his hair and threw on a t-shirt before padding down the stairs, eyebrows scrunched in confusion. He hadn’t made plans with any of his friends; who was this mysterious visitor? 

Zayn was sitting on the sofa looking remarkably uncomfortable given the fact that he had essentially spent half of his childhood here. “Zee?” Louis blurted out. “What’re you doing here?” Zayn looked up and examined Louis closely. “You haven’t been answering your phone,” he said after a long pause.

Louis shrugged. “S’been off,” he said, squirming a bit under Zayn’s intense scrutiny. Neither of them spoke for what must have been close to a minute. Finally, Zayn said, “Are you okay? You left earlier than you were supposed to and we couldn’t get ahold of you. Harry showed up at the flat Saturday night. Lou, he was like, beside himself.”

Louis flinched as he felt his insides twist unpleasantly at the mention of Harry. “He—he was?” Louis asked weakly. Zayn nodded. “Said you were supposed to come over but never made it. We were all really worried about you until Harry told us you’d gone home early Sunday morning.”

“You were?” Louis asked, slightly baffled by this news. Zayn rolled his eyes. “Of course we were, you tit. You left the flat after we’d had that row and didn’t come back for like, days.”

And right, Louis had momentarily forgotten about the shouting match he’d gotten in with Liam and Zayn on Saturday night. “I’m really, really sorry, Zee. For not saying anything about Liam. I really fucked up and I feel awful about—.” 

Zayn put both hands up and interjected. “Lou, no. You don’t have to apologize.” He sighed and scrubbed a hand through his hair. “The way that Liam and I jumped on you when we found out was really unfair. Like, yeah I kind of wish you’d told me but we put you in a tough spot. You tried. We know you tried.” 

Louis shook his head. “I could have like, helped both of you. And I didn’t,” he said miserably. “That wasn’t your job, mate. And we didn’t exactly make it easy for you to help us, did we?” Zayn chuckled. Louis didn’t say anything to that because no, they hadn’t made it easy but he felt like it would be kind of a dick move to agree, especially when Zayn was trying to apologize.

“Let’s just put it behind us, yeah?”Zayn said and Louis nodded gratefully. “Oh, and Lou?” Zayn said after a moment. “Hm?” he replied. “Happy birthday, mate,” Zayn grinned and grabbed a paper bag off the coffee table. “Brought you Roscoe’s.” 

Louis grinned as he reached for the bag and inhaled the scent of his absolute favorite food, raspberry scones from their corner bakery. They ate in appreciative silence for several minutes before Zayn turned to Louis. 

“Did something happen? With Harry?” he asked. For a moment, Louis considered unloading the whole story on Zayn. He knew he’d have to eventually, but the thought of rehashing everything now made his chest ache sharply. “Can we not talk about it?” he said quietly. 

Zayn nodded and pulled him into a rib-cracking hug. “Love you, Lou,” he mumbled. Louis swallowed a lump in his throat as he tightened his arms around Zayn. “Thanks, Zee,” he whispered.

* * *

Usually, spending Christmas in Holmes Chapel was one of the best parts of Harry’s year. He’d grown up in London but his grandparents on his mum’s side lived in the small village in Cheshire and they had always spent Christmas here. They all holed up in the tiny, two-bedroom stone cottage for three days while his grandad tended to the fire and his nan cooked and fussed over everyone.

This year was rather less enjoyable than usual. He felt tired and irritable and so bloody on edge the entire time because he just _knew_ that something was wrong with Lou. He spent half the holiday glued to his phone wildly hoping that Lou might text or call to explain what was going on.

After Louis had disappeared and then bailed on his birthday dinner, his phone had gone straight to voicemail every time Harry tried to call and it was slowly but surely driving him mad. He couldn’t stop reliving the phone call he’d had with Niall on Sunday morning.

“Found him in the street. He was right pissed. Looked like he was about to cry, Haz. Then he’d left by the time I woke up.” Niall was the least dramatic person that Harry knew and it was clear that even he was worried. Harry had almost flayed him for not calling as soon as he found Lou, but Niall had insisted that it was the middle of the night and he’d assumed Harry was asleep.

Now, four days later, Harry was absolutely miserable at the thought of going two more weeks with no idea why Lou had been so distraught. Was it something Harry had done? Is that why Lou was dodging his calls? They’d spent all of Saturday together and everything had been completely normal. He kept going over that day in his head, trying to figure out what could have happened, and he kept drawing a blank.

 

Christmas morning found Harry sprawled on the floor of the living room wearing pajama pants and a Santa hat while his nephew colored in his tattoos with magic markers. He was making a valiant effort not to mope but obviously that wasn’t working so well because before long, his sister was prying Thomas off of him saying, “Budge up, love. Mummy needs to talk to Uncle Haz for just a moment.” 

“But I haven’t colored the butterfly yet!” Thomas whined. “You can color the butterfly in a moment, darling,” she said. “Go help your nan in the kitchen.” When they were alone, Gemma fixed him with a stern look.

“What?” he asked slightly defensively. She raised an eyebrow. “Okay. The Ebenezer Scrooge routine stops now,” she said. Harry scowled. “That’s rude,” he grumbled. “And true!” she insisted. “You’re pale as a ghost and you haven’t looked up from your phone the whole time we’ve been here and you hardly touched nan’s treacle pudding last night.” Her face softened and her tone became gentler. “I’m worried, Haz.”

Harry sighed. “It’s—it’s Lou,” he admitted miserably. “Did you have a row? D’you need me to kick his ass?” Gemma asked. Harry laughed humorlessly. “No, it’s not like that. He’s—I think something’s like, really wrong and he won’t talk to me. And I have no bloody idea what to do,” he finished hopelessly.

Gemma studied him for a long moment. “It’s serious, isn’t it? This thing between you two?” Harry chewed on his bottom lip thoughtfully. “I dunno, honestly. I want it to be. Like, I love him, y’know? But he can be so closed-off sometimes. It’s hard to know what he’s thinking.”

Gemma considered that for a moment. “Well, have you told him how you feel?” she asked. Harry rolled his eyes. “It’s pretty obvious how I feel, Gems,” he said. “Niall never stops giving me shit for being such a blatantly lovestruck idiot.” Gemma didn’t appear satisfied. “But have you _told_ him, Haz?” Harry looked at the floor and shook his head.

She frowned. “Well, it sounds like Lou might need a bit more than that based on what you’ve said. I think he needs to hear it from you. I think you need to tell him. Like, that you love him and you’re there for him and you wanna have his babies all that sappy shit.”

“So romantic,” Harry deadpanned and Gemma shot him the bird. “Shut up, you knob-head. And bring him ‘round when you figure things out. I really want to meet this one.” Harry shot her a smile, his first genuine smile in days. She was right. He was going to tell Lou exactly how much he meant to him and it might be mildly terrifying but it would be worth it, in the end.

* * *

Louis finally fished his phone out of his dresser three days after Christmas. He figured it was past due, since he was now halfway through the holiday and in one week, he’d have to go back and at least pretend to be a functional human being again.

When he plugged it into the charger, he was immediately overwhelmed by a barrage of calls and texts. He knew that some of them would be from Harry, which is why it had taken him so long to pluck up the courage to turn the bloody thing on in the first place. However, knowing that Harry had been trying to reach him and actually seeing all of the missed calls and messages were two different things.

Louis spent the better part of an hour sitting on the floor at the foot of his bed reading and re-reading Harry’s messages. They were all thoughtful and wonderful and perfectly lovely, of course because Harry was thoughtful and wonderful and perfectly lovely. He’d texted to wish Louis a happy birthday and then again to wish him a happy Christmas and then again after that to ask how Louis’ holiday was going and whether he was okay.

Louis sat there and he read those messages until he could recite them backwards and he fucking hated himself for it because it just made the idea of what he had to do even more unbearable. He was going to end things with Harry.

 

Not that he really had a choice. Harry was leaving soon anyway, and it was only a matter of time before he sat Louis down and broke the news. Louis had imagined it in his weaker moments: Harry’s face full of regret as he said something kind and placating; “you’re great, but this is just such an amazing opportunity” and something awful about how he hoped they could still be friends.

And Louis knew himself well enough to know that he was much too proud to just sit through that and feign surprise and play the understanding, supportive ex. He wasn’t a good enough actor to do that. Hell, he wasn’t a good enough person to do that. He was a selfish prat who needed to beat Harry to the punch so that he wouldn’t come out of this with both a broken heart _and_ his dignity in shreds.

He forced himself to text Harry something friendly and vague: “Sorry, went off the grid for a bit to enjoy some family time. Hope you had a happy Christmas. See you back at school.” He hoped that the message would stop Harry worrying about him while discouraging any further texts that made Louis want to strangle himself with the tinsel still lying around the house.

 

He spent the rest of winter break watching shitty daytime television with his mum and building snowmen with the younger girls and smoking joints with Zayn in the park where he’d learned to play footie. In other words, he spent the rest of winter break trying really, really hard not to think about Harry.

He failed miserably, of course. And he knew that everyone could tell, but thankfully they were too kind to call him on it. That is, until the night before he was set to return to school when he and Lottie were sitting at the kitchen table, Louis scrolling through his laptop trying to finalize his class schedule while Lottie rifled through an old issue of Cosmopolitan. 

“You cocked things up with Harry, didn’t you?” she asked, not looking up from her magazine. Louis paused mid-click and made a noise that was somewhere between disbelief and indignation. She finally snapped the magazine shut and looked up at him. “That’s not a proper answer, Lou,” she said.

“I—it’s not—I dunno. I cocked up for letting myself get so involved, I guess, ” he said evasively, his eyes glued to the screen of his computer. Lottie rolled her eyes. “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” she sighed. “Stop being so damn cryptic and tell me what happened.” Louis swallowed hard and made himself look up at Lottie. 

“Well, Lots. Harry’s moving to New York. He’s doing this fellowship at Columbia that he didn’t even bother telling me about and he still hasn’t told me that he accepted. The only reason I know is that I found the letter in his kitchen cabinet. So, yeah,” he finished miserably. “It’s all pretty cocked up.”

“That fucking wanker!” Lottie sputtered indignantly. “That’s bullshit that he didn’t say anything, Lou!” Louis shook his head. “No, it’s not—you don’t know Hazza, okay?” he said, wincing when the nickname rolled off his tongue before he could stop it. “He probably didn’t say anything because he didn’t want to stress me out until it was a done deal. He’s not a wanker. Not at all.”

Lottie studied him for a long moment. “You love him, don’t you?” she asked in a small, sad voice. “Like, proper love him?” Louis nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah. I proper love him,” he admitted, realizing with a pang that this was the first time he’d ever said it out loud.

 

Louis called Harry on the train the next morning. If he was going to do this, he had to do it as soon as possible, before he lost his resolve and melted into a puddle of _staystaypleasestay_ at Harry’s feet.

Harry picked up on the first ring. “Lou? Hi!” he said, his voice throaty and eager and more than a little bit breathless. “Hi, Harry,” Louis choked out, chiding himself for not being able to muster a normal greeting. “I, uh—I’m on the train back now,” he continued. 

He could practically hear Harry beaming through the phone. “That’s great, Lou! I’ve missed you, like so much,” he said, sounding a bit bashful. For a fraction of a second, Louis had the mad urge to fling himself out of the moving train. 

“That’s uh—yeah, me too,” he managed. “Listen, are you free today? There’s something I wanted to talk to you about,” he said. There was a long pause and when Harry spoke again, he sounded hesitant, apprehensive. “Yeah, okay,” he said. “I’m here now if you want to come by the flat whenever you get in.” Louis agreed, promised he’d be there in the next hour or so and rung off, wondering idly how long it would take for this terrible, bone-deep ache to subside.

 

Louis spent 15 minutes pacing the block in front of Harry’s building, steeling himself. He had almost forgotten what it was like to see Harry without being able to touch him and kiss him and wrap himself up in the comfort of his presence. That was over now, and Louis knew it full well but he still needed a few minutes to remind himself. “He’s leaving. He’s going to New York and you’re never going to see him again.”

Finally, he buzzed Harry’s flat and winced when Harry’s voice came over the speaker, tinny but still unbearably warm. “Lou? Is that you, love?” Louis felt something splintering in his chest as he replied, “Yeah, it’s me,” in the least pathetic, lovesick tone he could muster.”

Harry met him in the hallway which was really, truly, terribly unfair because Louis stepped out of the elevator and Harry was just fucking _there_ with no warning at all. Right there, five feet away with a dopy, slightly nervous grin pasted on his perfect, _perfect_ face.

Half of Louis wanted to turn right back around without another word because there was no fucking way he could do this. The other even more traitorous half of him wanted to jump into Harry’s arms, like literally wrap his legs around Harry’s waist and fucking devour him, kiss him until he was restless and pliant and begging for it.

Louis bit down on his cheek hard. “Stop that right now,” he told himself firmly. He attempted a smile that felt horribly like a grimace and offered a small wave. “Hi,” he said. Harry bridged the gap between them, crowding into Louis’ space and placing a firm hand at the small of Louis’ back. 

“Fuck, Lou,” Harry breathed. “I missed you so fucking much.” Then he was leaning in and Louis knew that Harry was going to kiss him and his whole body went rigid because he _couldn’t,_ he just fucking couldn’t.

Harry noticed at once. He stiffened and took a step back from Louis and his face fell, green eyes wide and confused and hurt. Louis, being the terrible coward that he was, had to look away after a moment. 

“Sh-shall we go inside?” he asked shakily, trying to will his heartbeat to a normal speed. Harry nodded too quickly and took another jumpy step back from Louis. “Yeah, yeah, of course,” he said, opening the door to his flat and motioning Louis inside.

 

When Louis stepped into the living room, he tried very hard not to think about the fact that he had missed the way that it smelled in Harry’s flat. Like old books and sandalwood and Harry. He also tried not to think about the fact that this was the last time he’d ever step foot in the flat. 

“Tea?” Harry asked as he shut the door behind them. “No thank you,” he said, hating the odd, formality his tone had taken. “Are you hungry? Did you eat before you left Doncaster?” Harry said. Louis shook his head. “No, I’m fine. I—we need to talk, Harry.”

Harry nodded, his face set as he walked over to the couch and gestured for Louis to join him. Louis didn’t move. He stood by the door and counted backwards from five. When he got to zero, he would say it. Five. Four. Three. Two. One. Zero. Now. Fucking now.

He closed his eyes and tried to breathe through the tide of nausea swooping low in his stomach as he forced out the words he’d been preparing to say for two weeks. “I think it’s probably best if we don’t see each other anymore.”


	17. 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wowow. I can't believe I'm writing the author's note for the last chapter of this thing! first of all, several thank you's are in order:
> 
> allison, anna, and kate- thank you times a million for letting me push you into the deep end of the terrifying, wonderful world of the 1d fandom. thanks for the countless hours of facetiming, live feeding (heh), and brainstorming. mostly, thank you for investing your time energy, and yourselves int this story. I owe y'all hugs and also several bottles of wine
> 
> kylie- thank you for pushing ME into the deep end of the terrifying, wonderful world of the 1d fandom and introducing me to our 5 idiots. this one is kinda for you and I fervently hope you enjoy it (although I'm still a little terrified that you won't)
> 
> finally, thanks to all of YOU, the readers who commented and kudosed (is that a verb? I'm going to pretend like it is) and stuck with me through all the twists and turns of this story. 
> 
> NOW. are you ready for the end? I really hope you like it! xx.

_“I think it’s probably best if we don’t see each other anymore.”_

Time froze and Harry sat there suspended in it, unaware of anything except the way his heartbeat was reverberating through his entire body and his blood felt like it had turned to ice water. 

Harry wasn’t stupid. He had known that something with Lou was off. Like way, way off. And then Lou had called him with the whole “we need to talk” routine and Harry had known that nothing good was likely to come from that conversation.

Regardless, hearing Louis actually say those words out loud was like being hit with a ton of bricks. Because as many times as Harry had turned the whole situation around in his head, it made no fucking sense why Louis was doing this. Why he had vanished from Harry’s life for two weeks and then reappeared to tell Harrythat he was leaving again, this time for good.

 

“Aren’t you going to say something?” Louis asked in a raw, scratchy voice from his spot by the door. 

Harry looked up at him and dully noted the sickly pallor to Lou’s skin, the purple staining the delicate skin under his eyes, the way his normally bright blue eyes seemed to have dimmed. Louis looked absolutely terrible.

And maybe that should have made Harry sad or concerned, but instead it made him really fucking angry. 

What gave Lou the fucking right to look so bloody wounded when he was the one who had come here to—Jesus—to end things. Even in Harry’s head it sounded so fucking wrong. 

“No, Lou,” he replied, trying for conversational but landing on slightly biting. “I was kind of waiting on you to explain what the fuck’s going on.”

Louis flinched like Harry had hit him. “I—um,” Louis sputtered. Harry raised an eyebrow and made an impatient gesture for Louis to get the fuck on with it. 

“Harry,” he said, and his eyes flashed like saying Harry’s name hurt him, an observation that made Harry feel like his blood was boiling, because what the fuck had he done to deserve _that?_

“Louis,” he responded, looking Louis straight in the eyes and enunciating the word very clearly. 

 

Louis looked away and cleared his throat. “It’s just that, uh—we’re at such different places in our lives right now. I’m about to finish school and I don’t even know what my plans are for after graduation and you have your PhD program and you have so much going on with that. And  we probably won’t have a lot of time together now that the research thing is winding down. Like, we had fun and everything, but it’s probably better that we end things before next semester starts and we’re both so busy, y’know? It’s better this way."

It was all Harry could do not to snort derisively at how unconvinced Louis sounded by his own rambling explanation.

“Are you done?” Harry asked. Louis blinked and nodded once. “Right. So that’s bullshit,” Harry said matter-of-factly.

Louis gaped at him. “Excuse me?” he asked, and he actually had the nerve to sound slightly indignant and Harry wanted to kiss him so badly even though he was absolutely furious. 

“D’you think I’m an idiot, Lou?” he asked, rising from the sofa to face Louis head-on. Louis shook his head vigorously. “You know I don’t—“ he started but Harry cut sharply across him.

“Then how could you think I’d buy that half-assed excuse about our fucking schedules not matching up?” he scoffed and he actually did laugh this time, a harsh bark that didn’t sound like him.

“I tried to give you space after you disappeared and scared the living shit out of me. I tried not to take it personally that you skipped town and bailed on your birthday dinner and went completely radio silent for two weeks. But this? Fuck no, Louis. I’m not going to accept this. I need to hear the truth.”

It was clear that Louis had not expected the conversation to go this way, which was equal parts baffling, maddening, and hurtful. Had he honestly expected Harry to let him go without a fight? Jesus, did he not _know_?

Lou looked like he was thinking fast, scrambling for something, anything to say.

“Louis. The truth,” Harry repeated firmly. “Please,” he added, his voice going slightly huskier.

The silence that stretched out between them was deafening, pounding in Harry’s ears as he waited for Louis to speak.

 

“I’ve only been in one other relationship. Have I ever told you that?” Louis blurted out after about ten seconds. Harry shook his head slowly, cautiously. 

“Yeah. I was 17 when it started. He was a couple years older though. In uni. Here, actually. His younger brother was on my footie team and we met when he came back to Donny to watch a game one weekend.”

Louis sounded faraway and even though he looked up at Harry every so often, it seemed almost like he was talking to himself. 

“He was like, the fittest guy I had ever seen,” Louis continued. “He came up to talk to me after the match and it kind of took off from there. I had never like, been with anyone before. Y’know, there's not exactly an abundance of gay guys in Doncaster.” He laughed humorlessly and licked his lips, taking a deep breath before continuing.

“We started sleeping together and I was just like, ridiculously in love with him. Spent most of that year on the train going to visit him. After I finished secondary I figured that I’d come here and we’d be together, maybe get a flat together and everything would be perfect.”

Louis sounded bitter, angry with himself and Harry felt a flash of anger at the person who’d done that to him. That feeling multiplied tenfold when Louis continued, making his voice go flat and monotonous.

“Then I went to visit him at school one weekend and walked in on him fucking his flatmate. It, uh—turns out he’d been sleeping around like, the entire time. He told me that we’d never been exclusive so it wasn’t cheating.” 

“I was devastated. Like, I laid in bed for about a week. Zayn had to stage an intervention,” he said, chuckling darkly. “Of course, Zayn had tried to tell me the entire time that this guy was a dick, not that I listened."

He took a deep, steadying breath before going on. "Looking back, things weren’t as great as I’d convinced myself they were. Like, I knew that he flirted with other people. And he made me feel bad for being inexperienced or whatever. And just like, he let me embarrass myself and talk about how much I loved him when he obviously didn’t feel the same way. So it's kind of my fault. Should have known, shouldn't I?"

Harry opened his mouth to insist that no part of that was Louis' fault, that Louis was brilliant in every sense of the word and that anyone who couldn't see that needed their head checked. But before he could do that, Louis put one hand up and, in a ragged whisper, he said, "Just let me finish, Haz."

Harry nodded and Louis took a deep breath. When he spoke again, his tone was calm but his voice shook slightly and Harry could tell he was fighting to control himself.

“I think the worst part was running into him on campus during my first year. He’d be like ‘Hey, Lou! How’s it going?’ Like nothing had ever happened between us. Which was pretty shit. So I told myself that I wasn’t going to give anyone that much power over me again. But then I met you and you were just like,”—he gestured vaguely at Harry—“yourself and so I kind of forgot and now here I am again.” 

 

He scrubbed a hand through his hair. “I’m—uh, sorry to unload on you like that. I’m just like, trying to explain why I’m so fucked up, I guess.” 

Harry shook his head violently. “No. Don’t ever say that,” he said fiercely. “Just because some prick,—his lips curled around the word—“treated you like shit does not make you fucked up.” 

He could feel his blood thrumming in his veins, his whole body buzzing with a mixture of fury and confusion and the urge to wrap Louis in his arms and never let go. 

“I don’t—Lou, I just don’t understand what any of this has to do with me,” Harry said gently.

“Because I let it happen again, didn’t I?” 

What the fuck? Harry’s jaw dropped and his stomach sank as he stared at Louis. “What are you talking about?” he asked, utterly non-plussed. 

“You’re leaving,” Louis said flatly. “I’m—what?” Harry asked and then it clicked. New York. Louis had found out about New York.

And it was such a relief, such a huge, wondrous, fucking blinding relief that Harry couldn’t contain the burst of laughter that welled deep in his chest.

At that, Louis’ nostrils flared and his eyes flashed. “Right. I’m gonna go,” he said in a clipped voice. 

“Lou, no! Wait!” Harry exclaimed, launching forward to put himself between Louis and the door. “I’m sorry—it’s just—Lou, I’m not going to New York.”

* * *

_“I’m not going to New York.”_

The words echoed in Louis’ head and for a moment, the world stopped spinning and he forgot how to breathe.

“What?” he asked blankly. “I’m not going to New York,” Harry repeated firmly. “I—I said no. I’m staying here.”

Louis stared at him, struggling to wrap his mind around that. Never once had he considered the possibility that Harry might choose to stay.

He had told Louis himself that he wanted to go back and study at Columbia, that he had never wanted to study at York in the first place, that this had been his last resort.

“Why?” Louis asked. “Why would you stay here?” 

Harry sighed. “Goddammit, Louis. You’re a piece of work, did you know that? I’m staying because I’m fucking in love with you, you asshole. And because I like my program here and my entire life is here and Coleman wants me to keep doing research for him and a bunch of other stuff. But mostly because I fell in love with you.”

 

Louis felt his mouth pop open. He was fairly sure that his brain had just exploded into smithereens and all that was left was a smoldering, incoherent mess. 

“What? You—what?” he stuttered, his voice coming out shaky and barely above a whisper.

Harry glared at him. “Yeah,” he huffed. “Like, so bloody in love. Jesus, is it really that hard for you to believe?”

It took several long seconds for Louis’ brain to recover, then several more for him to come up with anything remotely articulate to say to that, but when he did, he said, “Haz—you can’t let me keep you here. This is such a huge opportunity and I just—I can’t keep you from that.”

Harry’s eyes crinkled and his dimples popped as he fixed Louis with a bemused grin. “Are you really trying to convince me to leave when that’s the reason you fell off the face of the Earth for two weeks? I don’t get you, Louis Tomlinson.” 

Louis shook his head stubbornly, fixing his face into a stern expression because he could already feel his lips threatening to quirk upwards. 

“I’m trying to convince you to do what’s best for you, you great prat. Don’t act like that’s so unreasonable.”

“Louis, I like my life the way it is. Like, a lot. That wasn’t true when I applied for the fellowship at Columbia. But things changed.” 

Harry sounded confident, genuine, and utterly convinced. Louis looked him in the eyes and saw the same thing in his easy smile and wide, earnest green eyes.

“So, you’re like, 100 percent not moving to America?” Louis asked slowly. “You’re totally sure?”

Harry chuckled. “Yes, Lou. Think we’ve pretty much established that I am absolutely not moving to America.” 

Louis finally allowed himself to give in to the incredible, dizzying sensation of relief that he’d been holding at bay for the last several minutes. He felt completely weak with it, his knees shaky and his heart pounding and his entire body going slack.

 

“Fuck, thank God,” he breathed, surging forward and bridging the distance between them, overcome with the overwhelming urge to touch every inch of Harry, to be closer than close. 

He wrapped his arms around Harry’s broad shoulders and tucked his nose into Harry’s curls, inhaling deeply and tightening his hold and laughing for no reason.

Harry pulled his back just enough to look him in the eyes. “I’m not going anywhere, Lou. I’m with you,” he whispered, like it was a secret meant just for Louis. Then he slipped a hand into Louis’ hair, tugged gently at the nape, and leaned forward to kiss him. 

It was tentative and hesitant and almost too gentle for a fraction of a second, but then Harry tipped his head back and Louis traced his tongue against the seam of Harry’s lips and it was almost too much.

Louis was overcome by the way Harry smelled and the way he tasted and the softness of his lips and the warmth of his body pressing against Louis’ and Jesus, how had Louis ever deluded himself into thinking he could live without this?

“Hazza,” Louis sighed. “You’re so perfect, so fucking good for me,” he babbled, hardly even aware of what he was saying. “Love you so much. I have no fucking clue what I would have done without you.”

He leaned back in but Harry’s hands were suddenly snaking down his arms, holding him in place.

 

“Lou,” he rasped. “Are you—you just said you loved me.” Louis beamed. “Yeah, Haz.” He made his voice deep and rumbling in a bad impression of Harry. “So bloody in love. Is that really so hard to believe?” 

Harry threw his head back and laughed. “I do not sound like that!” he said indignantly. 

“Could you stop shitting on my amazing impression and kiss me some more please?” Louis laughed.

“Yeah, I think that can be arranged,” Harry grinned, leaning forward again.

“Does this mean you’re not breaking up with me?” Harry murmured against Louis’ lips once he’d pulled back again.

Louis mustered a shaky laugh. “Quick on the uptake, aren’t you?” he teased playfully.

“Shut up,” he mumbled. “Just wanted to be,”—he gasped when Louis leaned down to suck a mark on his neck—“wanted to be sure,” he finished breathlessly.

“Now that you’re sure,” Louis rasped in Harry’s ear, “can you fuck me? I’ve missed you so, so fucking much. Please, Hazza. M’begging,” he said in a breathy whisper. 

 

He smiled when he felt Harry's cock twitch through his jeans. “Y-yeah, Lou. Fuck. Of course,” he rambled, pushing Louis against the door and jamming their mouths together messily. Louis sucked gently on Harry’s tongue as he scratched gently up Harry’s sides, scooping the fabric of Harry’s shirt up and pulling it over his head. 

He broke away to lean down and kiss each of the tattoos on Harry’s chest in turn, wondering how he’d gone two whole weeks without this and fervently hoping he’d never have to go that long without being able to get his mouth on Harry again. 

He sank to his knees as he continued to trail his lips down Harry’s chest to his abdomen before reaching the fig leaves tattooed on his hipbones. He popped the button on Harry’s jeans and drug the zipper down with his teeth, earning an appreciative groan from Harry. 

“Fuck, Lou. You’re so hot like that. So hot all the time. Drive me fucking crazy,” he gritted out, tangling his hands roughly in Louis’ hair as he leaned forward to mouth against the cotton of Harry’s briefs. 

Louis looked up at him with wide, blue eyes as he licked up the outline of Harry’s cock through the fabric. “I—fuck. Bedroom. Now,” Harry panted, pulling Louis up and kissing him roughly before tugging him down the hallway. 

Once they were both sprawled on the bed, Louis tugged Harry’s briefs down his legs so that they rested midway down his thighs, freeing his cock but restraining his legs. 

He squirmed, his cheeks going a deep shade of red as Louis nipped at his inner thighs. He teased for a few more minutes, licking up his thighs and biting gently at his hips and massaging the firm skin of his ass, reveling in the needy, breathy noises that Harry made in response. 

When he took Harry’s cock in his mouth, Harry bucked against him and nearly shouted. Louis smiled around his cock, cheek bulging obscenely. Harry traced his hand over Louis’ cheek reverently and thrust up into his mouth. Louis moaned as he felt Harry hitting the back of his throat. 

“L-Louis,” Harry gasped, his voice shaky. Louis realized that Harry’s entire body was shaking, his breathing ragged in a way that it usually wasn’t.

 

He pulled off and eased up the bed, his heartbeat stuttering when he saw Harry’s eyes jammed shut, biting his bottom lip so hard that it left little white indentations on the skin. He looked wrecked, completely overcome.

“Haz, is everything okay?” he asked, voice hoarse and throaty. “I—yeah, sorry,” Harry mumbled, sounding embarrassed. “M’being stupid. I just—I thought I’d lost you and I’m so relieved that I haven’t and it’s all just a lot. Fuck, I’m sorry,” he laughed breathlessly, burying his head in his hands.

Louis pulled his hands away and nudged his chin up so they were looking at each other. “Hey, Hazza,” he smiled. “It’s okay. It’s a lot for me too, yeah?” He kissed Harry gently and stroked his hair soothingly. 

Something came loose in his chest when he felt Harry sigh and relax against him, body going loose and pliant. 

They kissed until Harry started getting restless and impatient. “Lou,” he whined, rutting his hips forward and sliding a hand down to cup Louis through his briefs. “Will you—want you to fuck me,” Harry breathed, looking down bashfully. Louis moaned. “Fuck, are—are you sure, Haz?”

Harry jerked Louis’ pants down to his ankles and tossed them aside, wrapping a hand around his cock and twisting his wrist on the upstroke. 

“Extremely sure,” he grinned. “Like, so fucking sure.” Louis laughed and almost fell off the bed trying to kiss Harry and fumble in the drawer for lube and a condom at the same time. 

“Try not to knock us both off the bed, you oaf,” Harry laughed, inhaling sharply when Louis squeezed at his hip and nipped at the sensitive skin below his ear. “How very dare you!” Louis said in mock-hurt. “You’re clearly the oaf in this relationship!” 

Harry smiled lazily. “Shut up and fuck me already,” he teased, flipping over onto his stomach and wriggling his bum. “Not like I can say no to that, can I?” Louis asked, his voice going low and husky as Harry spread his legs invitingly.

“Jesus, Haz. You’re so perfect. Think you were fucking made for me,” he marveled, crawling behind Harry and pressing light kisses to the backs of his thighs.

He squeezed a generous dollop of lube on his fingers and traced around Harry’s rim before pushing in one finger to the knuckle. 

Harry made a high, keening noise and Louis felt the muscles in his back and shoulders tense. Louis kissed between Harry’s shoulder-blades as he gently added another finger and found a rhythm. 

 

It only took a couple minutes for Louis to find Harry’s prostate and when he did, Harry drew in a great, shuddering breath and let it out as a desperate whine. Louis grinned and added another finger as he sped up the motion of his hand. 

After he’d opened Harry up, he withdrew his fingers and ducked his head, licking a long stripe directly against Harry’s hole. 

Harry, who had been holding himself on his hands and knees, collapsed forward onto the bed. “Fuck Lou, please,” he gasped, pushing his hips up. 

Louis moaned and buried his face in deeper, fucking into Harry with his tongue. He added two fingers and licked around Harry’s rim, wrapping his spare hand around his own painfully-hard cock and jerking to the rhythm of Harry’s breathy moans. 

“Lou, m’gonna come, m’about to—,” Harry started, his voice desperate, shaky, fucking ruined. “Not quite yet, love,” Louis said, sliding out his fingers and lining his cock against Harry’s entrance. “Then fucking get on with it,” Harry rasped, pushing back jerkily. 

Louis happily obliged, pushing in slowly and groaning when he bottomed out. “Move,” Harry grunted. “So bossy,” Louis managed.

Then he snapped his hips and they let out matching low moans. Louis’ motions became sloppy as he felt himself quickly approaching the edge.

“Come for me, Haz,” he breathed, wrapping a hand around Harry’s cock and stroking him quickly. “Want you to come for me. You’re so beautiful when you do.” That’s all it took for Harry to come all the way up his stomach, staining the butterfly on his sternum. When Louis came just two or three strokes later, he felt like he was drowning in it, collapsing onto Harry and gasping for air. 

 

He laid there clutching at Harry for the better part of a minute, waiting for his heart to stop feeling like it was going to beat out of his chest.  “Oof,” he grunted as he pulled out. Harry smiled and petted at his hair. 

“That was pretty decent,” he said as Louis tossed the condom into the bin and flopped down beside him. “Yeah. Solidly mediocre. Five out of ten,” Louis grinned. 

Harry laughed and pinched Louis’ nipple, making him yelp. “Shut up,” he said, curling into Louis and smiling into his chest. “Yeah, okay,” Louis grumbled. “Only because you asked nicely though.” 

“If I ask nicely will you call for delivery?” Harry asked. “Getting fucked really works up an appetite.” 

Louis gasped, making a show of being deeply scandalized. “That’s filthy, Styles!” He grinned and kissed Harry’s left dimple. “But yeah, I guess I can do that. Thai or sushi?”

After Louis had ordered their food and rolled back into bed, the room fell into a comfortable silence as they wrapped around each other. 

“Can I ask you something?” Louis asked after a while as he traced his name into the soft skin of Harry’s back. Harry turned to face him. “Ask away,” he smiled.“Why didn’t you tell me you were applying for the fellowship? Like fuck, Harry. Nick knew and I didn’t.”  

Harry bowed his head and frowned. “Yeah, that was fucking stupid of me. I just—when I started the application process, we had just started working together and I was still half-convinced that you hated my guts.” 

Louis squawked and poked at Harry’s stomach. “Oi! I never hated your guts! I just thought you were posh and snobbish and it bugged me that I was so fucking attracted to you and you were so painfully unavailable,” he insisted. 

Harry rolled his eyes. “Unavailable?! Lou, there’s no way you were ever more attracted to me than I was to you. I don’t think I stopped thinking about you for more than three minutes after I met you.” 

He cleared his throat. “Anyways, I didn’t tell you then because it was such a long shot and I didn’t think I’d ever get it,” he said, ignoring Louis’ protest of, “Of course it wasn’t a long shot, you idiot. You’re a fucking genius.”

“Then I found out that I’d gotten it and I didn’t tell you because I was scared that you’d freak out and run away because like, I kind of sensed that you were a little hesitant about us to begin with.” Louis frowned.

“That’s kind of shit,” he said sadly. “I’m sorry, Hazza. That I made you feel like you couldn’t tell me when this huge thing happened. Like, you’re always so great when anything happens in my life and I want to be that person for you too.”

Harry beamed at him, so bright that it made Louis feel dizzy and a little drunk because this gorgeous boy was actually his, and he could hardly conceive of a world in which he was that fucking lucky. “I want that too, Louis,” he said softly. 

“Good. It’s settled, then,” Louis said, trying and failing to contain the massive grin he felt spreading across his face. “Good,” Harry echoed. “Good,” Louis repeated one more time, laughing and leaning in to kiss Harry’s shoulder.

 

They spent most of the next 24 hours tangled together in Harry’s bed eating and catching up and making up for lost time, lazily becoming re-acquainted with each other’s bodies.

“Two weeks worth of blow jobs,” Louis mused. “How many do I owe you, then? Ten? Fifteen?” Harry laughed and drew him in for a deep kiss that turned into both of them rubbing off against one another like teenagers, gasping into each other's mouths as they came.

Harry told Louis about being in Holmes Chapel for Christmas and trying to enjoy himself at his mate’s New Year’s party in London. “I couldn’t stop thinking about how you would have been making fun of all the snobby posh people,” he grinned. “Excuse you, I’m posh as fuck!” Louis retorted.

Louis told Harry about the fight he’d had with Zayn and Liam and his reconciliation with both boys. “Zayn came over on my birthday and then we both FaceTimed Liam and he actually apologized to me! Can you believe that? Typical Liam.” 

“Yeah, I can, actually,” Harry frowned. “It sounds like they were pretty unfair to you when they found out. You did the best you could, Lou. They should have known that.”

Louis just rolled his eyes and went on with his account of the conversation. “They told me that they talked it out and decided to just like, stay friends for now and then ‘see what happens,’ whatever that means. So they’re not together, but at least now everything’s out in the open now.”

At that, Harry grinned wickedly and poked at Louis’ side. “So does that mean there’s still hope for the star-crossed lovers after all?” 

Louis laughed. “I tried to ask Zayn the same thing! But you know him, didn’t give away a thing, fucking wanker. So we’ll have to run recon, won’t we?” he asked, his eyes gleaming mischievously. 

“Yes, because you playing matchmaker turned out so well the first time,” Harry said drily.

“You wound me. Truly,” Louis said, pouting until Harry pinned him down and snogged him so hard he forgot what he was mad about.

* * *

A month later, Louis begrudgingly found himself at the back of a hideously long check-out line in Tesco’s with a basket full of pasta and fresh produce.

Harry had come up with the brilliant idea to host a beginning of term dinner but everyone’s schedules had been so hectic that this was the first night they’d all been free.

At first, Louis had groaned that they weren’t allowed to host dinner parties until they were stuffy, boring 40 year olds who only had sex once a week.

Harry had given him a withering look andwhen that didn’t work, an enthusiastic blowjob. In the end, Louis had relented.

He’d even reluctantly promised to help. But since Louis couldn’t cook for shit, “helping” came in the form of buying the groceries and keeping the grumbling to a minimum.

If he grumbled to himself about why anyone in their right mind would pay 4 pounds for a pint of cherry tomatoes, no one had to know.

 

“I come bearing gifts!” Louis called through the door to Harry’s flat, banging on it with his elbow and trying not to upend the three shopping bags balanced precariously in his arms. “Let me in!” 

“What’s the password?” a familiar voice inquired. “Fuck off, Malik!” Louis chuckled. The door cracked open and an amber eye peered out at him. "Wrong,” Zayn said.

“Oi, let ‘im in!” Louis heard Niall say from somewhere in the flat. “He’s got our food!” Zayn considered that for a moment and then shrugged, swinging the door the rest of the way open.

Zayn slumped back to rejoin Liam on the sofa, where they appeared to be playing some complicated card game. “Hi, Lou! Want us to deal you in?” Liam smiled when he looked up and saw Louis. “Nah, mate. Everyone knows Lou’s shit at cards,” Zayn said, tweaking Liam’s ear and earning a playful elbow in the rib in response. 

Louis rolled his eyes. Since the beginning of term, his best mates had been annoyingly tight-lipped about the status of their relationship. Louis, however, had begun to suspect that they were fooling around behind everyone else’s backs and that the sexually-charged play-fighting was some type of odd mating ritual.

For his part, Louis was just glad that they weren’t tip-toeing around each other anymore.

Louis deposited the groceries in the kitchen, where he found Niall and Perrie pouring wine for everyone. 

“Of course you two are the first to break out the booze,” Louis said fondly. “Piss off and drink your wine!” Pez exclaimed, brandishing a glass at Louis and kissing him on the cheek.

“Where’s Hazza?” Louis asked after he’d taken a long sip. “You lot haven’t run him out of his own flat, have you?” 

“Fuck off,” Zayn said lazily at the same time that Liam said, “He’s in the bedroom. Wasn’t done getting dressed but he told us to come on in.” Louis thanked Liam, flipped Zayn the bird, and picked up Harry’s wine glass before heading down the hallway toward Harry’s room.

 

Harry was perched on the edge of the bed wearing briefs and a jumper, phone pressed to his ear. 

When he saw Louis, his eyes lit up and he mouthed “Hi,” gratefully accepting the wine glass Louis handed him. 

“Yeah, that sounds good, Professor Richardson,” he said into the phone. “Okay, we can cover the Equiano on Tuesday.”

He paused and rolled his eyes at Louis, holding up one finger to signal that he’d be just a moment. “Yep. Yep, will do.” Another pause. “Okay, bye Professor R.”

After he’d rung off, he made grabby hands for Louis and hummed happily when Louis slid between his open legs and slipped both hands over his shoulders, linking them behind Harry’s neck. 

“Was that the prof who has the hots for you?”

“She doesn’t have the hots for me!” Harry insisted.

“Harold,” Louis said exasperatedly. “She asked you out for drinks last week!” 

Harry flushed. “Yeah, so we could talk about the essay question for the midterm!” Louis rolled his eyes. “Oh, Harry, you poor, innocent lamb.”

Harry pulled Louis in closer and nipped at his earlobe, shallowly thrusting his hips against Louis’. “Innocent, hm?” he breathed. 

“Okay, maybe you’re more clueless than you are innocent,” Louis admitted before leaning forward and joining their lips. 

Harry responded right away, parting his lips and tightening his legs around Louis’ waist. Louis was tugging on the waistband to Harry’s briefs when he heard a crashing sound coming from another room. 

“Oi, you two! Stop being disgusting and come cook our dinner!” Niall shouted from the kitchen. 

“Cook your own dinner, you fucker!” Louis called over his shoulder. 

Harry buried his head on Louis’ shoulder and laughed. “Bad idea. He will one hundred percent burn the flat down if he’s left in the kitchen unsupervised.” 

“Pez is in there with him,” Louis grumbled, but he still allowed Harry to disentangle himself and pull on a pair of jeans before reluctantly venturing into the hallway.

 

An hour later, the six of them were sprawled across the living room, plates of hot food cradled in their laps. Liam and Zayn had claimed the couch while Perrie and Niall were balanced on the oversized armchair and Louis and Harry were stretched out on the floor. 

“Good dinner party, H,” Niall mumbled through a mouthful of pasta. “Proper posh.” 

Harry stuck his tongue out and tossed his bread crust at Niall, who caught it in his mouth. 

“That was fucking impressive, mate,” Zayn said appreciatively. “This pasta’s the shit, Haz,” he added as he swallowed a bite. “Thanks,” Harry smiled. “S’my mum’s recipe.”

“Your mum’s fit,” Niall said, which prompted Perrie to flick his nose and Harry to lob another piece of bread at his head.

“Your mum is very pretty,” Louis said fairly, situating himself between Harry’s legs and leaning against his chest. “She looks like the girl version of you, Haz!”

Harry looked like he was trying not to smile. “Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled into Louis’ hair.

“Could the couples be a little less nauseating, please? Zee and I feel like fifth and sixth wheels over here!” Liam said jovially.

Niall extricated himself from Perrie and peered over at Liam and Zayn. “Nah, mates. This is a triple date,” he said, rolling his eyes as if this should have been obvious.

There was an awkward silence in which Liam raised an eyebrow and Zayn muttered, “Piss off, mate.”

Niall turned to Perrie in confusion. “You said this was a triple date, didn’t you, Pez?” Perrie laughed and stuck her hand over Niall’s mouth. “Ignore him!” she said in a sing-song voice. Louis and Harry exchanged a look and snorted into their plates of pasta.

“Right!” Liam said, clapping his hands together. “Dessert, anyone? I brought banoffee pie!”

Louis’ eyes lit up. “Liam Payne, love of my fucking life!” he exclaimed. “Wait until you try Li’s banoffee pie, Haz! You’ll fucking die!”

Zayn, Perrie, Niall, Louis, and Harry all let out obscene moans as they took their first bites of pie, Liam looking on and smiling smugly. 

“You’ve done it again, Li,” Zayn said, eyes closed in ecstasy. 

“Drinks are on me next lad’s night if you give me that recipe, Li,” Harry promised. 

“I want to marry this pie,” Niall proclaimed solemnly and Perrie nodded her agreement, adding, “I’d officiate that wedding, honestly.

 

In the blink of an eye, it was past midnight and they were all sipping on the Moscow mules Perrie had made for an after-dinner cocktail.

Louis looked around the room at Harry and Liam arguing over ManU’s chances for next seasonwhile Zayn and Niall fought over the last slice of pie and Perrie rambled to him about a terrible job interview she’d been on the week before. 

He was buzzing from the alcohol and too much delicious food and the company of his favorite people. Louis realized absently that he couldn’t remember ever being happier than he had been over the past month or so. He had his best mates and he had his boy and he felt like he could handle anything that life threw at him. 

He rolled his eyes at his own insufferable sappiness and tuned back into Perrie’s story as she described how the interviewer had called her the wrong name for half an hour. “Called me Penny! Can you fucking believe that?"

Liam begged off first, saying that he had to be up early for a study group the next morning. Niall and Pez left after the third round of Moscow mules and Zayn followed shortly after, leaving Harry and Louis sprawled languidly on the sofa.

 

“Hey Lou,” Harry said, lazily nudging him with a socked foot. “What’s the difference between ignorance and apathy?” Louis rolled his eyes and prepared himself for the punchline of one of Harry’s endless stupid jokes.

“What?” he asked. Harry’s eyes gleamed. “I don’t know and I don’t care!” he said, sounding entirely too pleased with himself.

Louis couldn’t resist the bright burst of laughter that escaped him because that one was actually pretty good. 

“That was _terrible,_ Hazza. Truly. I have no ideawhy I’m dating you.” Harry laughed and swung his leg over Louis’ hips. “Because you love me,” he said smugly, pinning Louis’ arms above his head and ducking his head to nuzzle Louis’ neck. 

“Shit, I do, don’t I? Pity,” Louis said. Then he tipped his head up to kiss the satisfied little grin right off Harry’s face. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fin.
> 
> now please excuse me while I go cry for a few days...


End file.
